


A New Dawn

by await_the_dawn



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: I promise, So much angst, THE MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH IS NOT JEHAN OR COMBEFERRE, and there's Angst, but there's also fluff!, everyone else though, yea they die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:43:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 43,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/await_the_dawn/pseuds/await_the_dawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Co-written with the-intrepid-poet on tumblr!<br/>A slight twist on the classic tale, told from the perspectives of Jean Prouvaire and Combeferre as they struggle through the Revolution and it's aftermath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The ellipses indicate which section was written by whom. Jehan's perspective was written by the-intrepid-poet and I wrote the Combeferre sections

Jean Prouvaire –Jehan by his friends- took his usual route to the Café Musain. He wore his usual mis-matching, flowery clothing and carried his usual poetry book –Dante today. However, there was a little more urgency in his step.

He had a revolution to help plan, after all! Sure, he wasn't as brilliant of a strategist as Enjolras or Combeferre, but he could still contribute. He believed in the cause whole-heartedly; the people of Paris deserved to be free of this tyrannical oppression! On that thought, Jehan paused and opened his book. He had stuck some paper inside with a pen. "Tyrannical… Oppression…" he muttered, writing it down to show the others later. What a great saying for a pamphlet!

On he walked, coming closer and closer to the Café that the Les Amis D'ABC had claimed as their headquarters. Jehan liked the Café. It was relatively peaceful and afforded him a good view of the sky. He'd even managed to get a few plants growing inside. Nothing too special; just a few read Chrysanthemums –he thought the color fitting.

As he passed by one yard, a blooming rose-bush caught Prouvaire's eye. The morning dew still clung to the petals, glittering and dancing in the sunlight. Ever the poet, Jehan felt moved to write a few verses, but he knew he didn't have the time. But he couldn't leave such a wondrous treasure behind! Making sure no one was around, Jehan leaned against the stone fence and reached for the closest rose. The flower was barely out of reach, and Jehan found himself leaning very precariously over the wall. Then suddenly, his balance shifted, and he toppled over the wall and right into the bush.

Thankfully, he caught himself before he could destroy too many of the beautiful flowers. He himself wasn't any worse for wear aside from a small cut on the back of his hand. Ignoring the sting, Prouvaire claimed his prize and hopped back over the wall. He tucked the rose into a pocked for safekeeping.

Jehan finally made it to the Café without any more distractions. He gave Madam a quick peck on the cheek before heading upstairs. As usual, Enjolras was already there, standing over a table piled with notes. The blonde boy looked up and smiled softly at Prouvaire.

"Nice to see you on time, Jehan," the chief greeted, "Did you see Combeferre on your way?"

Jehan shook his head and set his book down on another table. "Probably caught up in his studies," he replied with a shrug. Enjolras nodded and returned to his notes.

After a few moments, Jehan pulled out the rose. Enjolras would be too consumed in his work to notice Jehan penning furiously in his book while glancing frequently at a single rose…

...

Combeferre sat at the desk in his apartment, writing furiously. He had finally hit his stride for his essay on Cholera. He pushed his glasses further up his nose and glanced at his watch, realizing he was going to be late if he didn't leave now. He stacked his books and papers and cleaned up, grabbing his hat on his way out the door. He turned right and started towards the Cafe Musain, knowing if he took any longer Enjolras would have his head. After all, the revolution was far more important than any school work could ever be.

Combeferre turned along another street, glancing at a yard as he passed. This yard always had such nice flowers, and while he was not nearly as fascinated by them as his friend Jehan he enjoyed the look of the place. This time as he passed though he noticed one of the bushes was rather trampled looking. Shaking his head in bemusement he picked up the pace. Finally he made it the Cafe. In a hurry, he merely nodded to the owner, who of course they all appreciated greatly, as he walked up the stairs.

All the others were already there and Combeferre felt slightly embarrassed for being the last one there. He went over and sat next to Jehan, who was writing furiously.

"Hello Jehan," Combeferre said as he took his seat. The poet continued writing, glancing at a rose he had sitting near him. Combeferre felt that it looked vaguely familiar when he realized it matched the roses on the trampled rose bush he had passed.

Combeferre fought back a laugh as he leaned closer to Jehan. "You didn't happen to fall on the bush when you found that flower did you mon ami?"

...

As engrossed as he was in his poem, Jehan hardly noticed when the others arrived. He had just finished his poem when Combeferre came to sit next to him. Of all the boys present here, Jehan considered him to be one of his closest friends. Jehan smiled in greeting, but that soon turned into a blush at the schoolboy's question. He should've known Combeferre would know; he walked by that same house all the time!

Still blushing slightly, Jehan shut his book and hid the scratch on his hand. It would only make Combeferre worry, and the poet hated it when his friends worried about him. He forced himself to chuckle lightly. "Just an accident. You didn't happen to be working on some essay, mon ami?" he asked with a soft smirk, hoping to direct the attention from his klutziness.

...

Combeferre smirked at Jehan's attempt to turn the conversation away from his fall and opened his mouth to reply but stopped when Enjolras stood up.

"Now that we are all here," he began, with a pointed look at Combeferre, "We can begin."

"Oh good, 'cause I've got things to do," Grantaire called from his corner. Everyone merely ignored him, as that happened all the time. Combeferre sat and listened to Enjolras, joining in and debating with the others as was usual. The meeting flew, and was probably one of the shorter ones they had ever had.

"So I need all of you to pass out some fliers. We need to spread the word, prepare the people for revolution!" Enjolras finished.

Combeferre turned to Jehan as the meeting was breaking up. "Well mon ami, would you like to pass out fliers together? Spread some civilization?"

...

Jehan held back a snicker when Enjolras stared hard at Combeferre. Of course, he understood that Combeferre's studies were important. Maybe Enjolras would come to learn that as well? Who knew with their charismatic leader? He sat quietly through most of the debate, throwing in a few remarks now and again. Mostly, he jotted down notes and phrases to use in their next pamphlets. One he particularly liked was one said by Combeferre, "Revolution but Civilization." He underlined that one.

The meeting finally began breaking up. Some of the others stayed in the Café, talking and going over what was said at the meeting. Grantaire –as usual- sat in his corner, drinking. Jehan stood up and stretched, completely oblivious to the stares he received due to his outstandish outfit. "Why, of course, mon ami," he replied with a happy smile. He grabbed a bundle of pamphlets with his right hand, forgetting that it was the one he was supposed to be hiding from the others. Thankfully the blood had dried up, but it left a very visible red mark.

...

Combeferre followed Jehan out of the Cafe and they walked out the way they had come, Combeferre chuckling as they walked past the rosebush. They turned down a street that led to a row of shops, where there was almost always plenty of people. Today was no different. Combeferre planted himself in front of a bakery with Jehan a few feet away and began handing out fliers.

He made sure to keep a good eye out for any police, they weren't very fond of the Les Amis. Combeferre was getting rather good at making sure that people ended up with the pamphlets, even if they didn't want it. The trick was to just put it in their hands, because no one will just drop it right in front of him. Okay make that most people Combeferre thought to himself as an elderly gentleman sneers and makes a point to walk on the pamphlet as he continues on his way.

Combeferre shakes his head, not understanding how people are happy with the current government. He freezes when he sees a police nearby, and his unease grows when another joins him. Combeferre walks over to Jehan. "Let's go. Police."

...

While Combeferre's method for handing out fliers was more direct, Jehan took a more subtle approach. They weren't going to force the revolution on people, so why force fliers upon them? He didn't really know why, but whenever he simply smiled at people, they typically took his proffered flyer. Sure, some people sneered and glared, but they never resorted to violence. The quiet poet was happy with whatever he could do to spread the word, though, so he couldn't complain.

He noticed Combeferre coming to him and grew a little worried. That worry only increased when his friend spoke and he looked down the street. Police. Jehan nodded quietly and turned his back on the government officials, heading up the street quickly.

"Pardon, monsieurs!" Jehan bit back a curse as the police called after them, "We have some questions for you!" He looked, wide-eyed to Combeferre.

"What do we do?" he hissed.

...

Combeferre looked left and right then pushed Jehan down an alley to their left. "Go," he hissed, and took off down the alley. It was narrow and twisting, so he couldn't see what was ahead until he had already turned the corner.

Though Combeferre knew the streets of Paris well, he was quickly lost in this maze that Jehan and himself found themselves in. But he couldn't stop and think, because he could still hear the police behind them.

They came to a fork and Combeferre turned right, running right into two more police officers.

...

Jehan followed closely behind Combeferre, so close that he smacked right into him when he stopped. He stared around his friend at the two officers, and then looked over his shoulder, expecting to see more. Thankfully, there weren't any behind them yet, but Jehan could hear shouts just down the alley. There was another passage to their left, but Jehan didn't know if they could make it there before getting caught. Of course, these two officers in front of them didn't seem aware of the situation…

Thinking very quickly on his feet, Jehan put on the most panicked face he could muster –which wasn't hard given the situation. "Oh thank God we found you! There's been a robbery back on the street! My friend and I were nearly mugged! The goons are chasing us! Please, you must stop them!" he begged, going so far as to make his eyes water.

The act fooled the two officers, who pushed past the two boys and headed down the alley. Without another word, Jehan pulled Combeferre down the next alley. They zigzagged through more side-passages and alleys before coming to a stop behind a small bakery. No one followed, and Jehan slumped against the back wall, panting and actually laughing a bit despite himself. "The revolution hasn't even started yet… And we're already causing trouble," he laughed, smirking at Combeferre.

…

Combeferre thought his heart would stop when they ran into the other police officers. Luckily Jehan was prepared and managed to convince the officers they were running from muggers. As Combeferre slumped next to Jehan against the bakery he laughed breathily before leaning on his knees with his head in his hands.

"Oh that was brilliant Jehan," he said, looking over at his friend. "We would have been caught for sure without you."

Combeferre felt rather ashamed of his reaction to their situation. Enjolras considered him the second in command, and yet he froze when confronted with a few members of the police.

Combeferre stood up and looked around, on edge after their close call. "Let's return to the Musain. We should tell Enjolras that the police are becoming bolder. Everyone needs to be on their guard."

….

Jehan just shrugged at the compliment. That plan came completely out of the blue, after all. He watched his friend closely, seeing the emotions that played out on his face. A frown passed over Jehan's face and he straightened up. Putting a hand on Combeferre's shoulder, he said with a small grin, "Don't worry about it, mon ami, anyone else would have frozen-up."

"On second thought… Enjolras would have gone into one of his frightening tirades, and Grantaire probably would have just passed out!" he added, trying to cheer his friend up. With a grin, Jehan started back to the Musain, taking care to check the streets before he walked down them.

….

Combeferre smiled at Jehan's attempt to cheer him up, amused at the image that passed through his mind Enjolras ranting at the police while Grantaire passed out on the ground. Combeferre pushed off the wall of the bakery and followed after his friend as they headed back to the back to the Musain. The trip back took much longer, as the students were being extremely cautious to avoid any more encounters with the law.

Combeferre let out a sigh of relief as the Musain came into view, its aging structure the most beautiful thing in the world to him at that moment. Combeferre kissed the hand of the owner as he passed to go to the stairs, so thrilled was he to return.

Jehan and Combeferre entered the room and saw Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and Joly were standing around talking. Combeferre headed straight to their leader.

"Enjolras!" he said as he walked up, "Jehan and I have some news, none of it good."

…..

Enjolras was surprised to see the two back so early, but that surprise turned to worry at his second's words. "What happened?" he asked.

"We were passing out flyers," Jehan began, "Then some police showed up. They tried to question us, but we ran off. They chased us for a while, but we lost them at the bakery. We'll all have to be more careful from now on…" They'd probably have to go out in bigger groups for better protection.

Enjolras sighed, shaking his head. "Already they're trying to silence us…" he growled, trailing off, "Just let them try. From now on, we'll go out as a group."

Jehan nodded in agreement, beginning to relax after such a stressful day. It seemed as if things were going to get even more interesting from here on out. He would try his best to come up with more catchy slogans and phrases to use in their next pamphlet. It probably wouldn't be a bad idea to start building up his endurance-levels either…

"Prouvaire, you're bleeding!" Jehan was brought out of his thoughts by Joly's exclamation. Blinking in confusion, Jehan looked down at his hand. The scratch had apparently reopened when he and Combeferre were running. "It's just a scratch, Joly," he assured the aspiring doctor.

But of course, Joly wouldn't listen. The hypochondriac grabbed Jehan's hand and looked it over, scolding him about infections and proper wound-care. Then he made Prouvaire wash his hand thoroughly and bandage it with a clean cloth. Jehan took it in stride, knowing Joly was only concerned. Still, he exchanged smirks with Courfeyrac occasionally.

…

Combeferre listened to Jehan's summary of the days adventure, nodding in agreement. Enjolras' statement made him worry a bit however.

"Remember Enjolras, there are ways other than violence. I know there will be some when the time comes, but you don't want to start a fight with the police too soon," Combeferre said.

Enjolras was about to reply when Joly exclaimed at Jehan's bleeding hand. The whole situation made Combeferre laugh (to himself of course for he didn't want a lecture from Joly). When Joly released Jehan Combeferre muttered to him, "You should be more careful with your flowers Jehan, Joly might just cut your hand off next time."

Enjolras came up to them then. "I need to go to General Lamarque's house. See if he can tell me anything about the sudden curiosity of the police. I'd like you two to come as well."

Combeferre nodded and followed his leader out of the café.

…..

Jehan went incredibly pale at Combeferre's tease. He turned a horrified and curious expression on Joly. The would-be doctor actually seemed to consider it! He shuddered at the thought, but composed himself when Enjolras came up to them. Honestly, Prouvaire was surprised. Why did Enjolras want him to come along? Combeferre he could understand, but what use would a timid poet be at Lamarque's house? Still, if Enjolras wanted him to come, then Jehan would oblige.

As they walked the street, Jehan spoke up, "I've been working on those new pamphlets. They're turning out alright but…" he trailed off, suddenly wondering if he should even bring it up.

…

Combeferre had seen the thought flicker across his friend's face, the surprise at the fact that Enjolras had chosen not just Combeferre but Jehan as well to go to Lamarque's house. Combeferre was wondering how to bring up his friends lack of confidence when Jehan mentioned the pamphlets and trailed off, obviously unsure of himself.

Combeferre shook his head. "You really should be more confident in yourself, Prouvaire. We trust you to come to Lamarque's, and we trust you to design pamphlets. What are you worried about?"

…

And of course, Jehan blushed at Combeferre's compliment. He took it to heart though, knowing if he wasn't sure of himself, then his work really wouldn't be that great. He shook himself then shook the thought away. "Nothing then," he replied.

Enjolras pat him on the back. "We can take a look at what you've got tomorrow, and then figure out when to print it," he said. Jehan smiled at how sure Enjolras was in his abilities.

…

It was heading on towards dusk as the three Les Amis turned onto General Lamarque's street. It really disgusted Combeferre how some people could live in luxury in these large houses while others lived in the gutters, never knowing when next they would eat. Though Lamarque was better than many, France still needed a revolution to change the bourgeoisie and their ways. The students kept to the edge of the street, still wary and knowing that this area of the city would most likely have more patrols.

They reached Lamarque's house, which was large and well lit. Enjolras walked up to the door, followed closely by Combeferre and Jehan. He turned to the others "Jehan keep watch, we don't want any trouble when our backs are turned." With that, Enjolras reached out and knocked on the door. A minute passed before a servant opened the door.

"Pardon us sir," Enjolras said, "We are here to see General Lamarque."

The servant looked at the three boys on the doorstep, recognizing Enjolras from his many talks with the general. "I'm sorry young man. I'm afraid the General is very ill. He is seeing no one." The servant bade him good night, and shut the door.

Combeferre felt worry. He knew Lamarque was older, but to be ill, perhaps dying, would not be good for the poor of Paris. Lamarque had always been generous, a people's man, always fighting for those whose voices were ignored.

"Come Enjolras, we can't stand here in the open. There's nothing more we can do here," Combeferre said, trying to convince their chief to move away.

Enjolras turned around, a plan in his eyes.

…

Jehan obediently put his back to the wall, scanning the street for any patrols. This was a fairly wide street that could hold a lot of people. Maybe it would be a good location for a protest in the future, if General Lamarque would permit it? Jehan pushed the idea aside for now, reminding himself to tell Enjolras about it later. If they wanted to get word out about the revolution, what better way than to hold some kind of rally?

Prouvaire looked over his shoulder as the servant delivered the grave news. Ill? Somehow Jehan had a hard time seeing such a strong man struck down with sickness. It seemed the mighty always fell to something so small. Jehan shook the poetic symbolism away; there would be time for that later. As Enjolras turned, Prouvaire didn't miss that spark in his eye. He was definitely planning something, but Jehan didn't want to interrupt his thoughts. "Back to the Musain?" he asked.

Enjolras just nodded and led the way. Whatever plan it was, it was a big one.

…..

Combeferre could practically see the plan forming in Enjolras' head as they traveled back to the Musain. He knew that whatever their leader was planning, that it would be huge. Combeferre could sense that whatever happened soon, things would never be the same. The three students walked up the stairs to their room of the Café.

"Well, Enjolras?" Combeferre asked, "Are you going to share your plan with us?"

Enjolras looked at Combeferre, a fire in his eyes. "Everything is going to change my friend. It is time. I can feel it. We need to have an emergency meeting. Everybody needs to come. We need to plan, and we need to make more pamphlets. I hope you have some good ideas, Jehan. I need you to go to split up and get the word to the others. We are having a meeting. Tomorrow. We have a lot to plan."

Combeferre could feel the excitement growing. Everything they had planned for, had talked about for years, it was finally going to happen, and happen soon. Together, they could change the government. Help raise the people into action, to better their lives once and for all.

Combeferre nodded. "Civilization is on its way, Enjolras. I can feel it."

…

The excitement of the moment passed to Jehan and everyone else currently in the room. This was it. They were finally going to act and change Paris forever. What exactly did Enjolras have in mind, though? We'll find out tomorrow, I suppose, Jehan thought with a shrug. Still, he was excited to hear their leader's plan. He nodded confidently at Enjolras' instruction. "I can come up with something by tomorrow's meeting," he assured him, "And I'll let Feuilly and Joly know what's going on." They lived in fairly close proximity to each other.

Later that night, Jehan sat in his flat, furiously writing and designing new pamphlets. Crumpled pieces of paper littered the floor, and there was a dark stain on his desk from where he accidentally spilt his ink. The wax on his candle was half-way used up, but Jehan still wasn't finished. Words poured out of his mind and arranged themselves on the page.

"People of Paris, rise up and reclaim your livelihood from the tyrants who continue to oppress your freedoms! A war is brewing that will mold Paris into a land of prosperity and equality for all. You have an opportunity to play your part to see this new dawn rise!"

Jehan sat back, nodding to himself; that seemed like a good closing statement. He read over the pamphlet once more to check for errors. Satisfied with his work, but still riled up by his emotions, the poet picked up his flute and began playing a soft melody. Once his nerves died down, he turned in for the night, dreaming of a new Paris.

….

Combeferre left the café and went straight to Courfeyrac's apartment. He knocked on the door and a moment later Courfeyrac opened it, looking surprised to see Combeferre.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"It's starting Courfeyrac," Combeferre replied, "Tomorrow we have a meeting. Enjolras has a plan, and everything we have been working towards is soon to come into action."

Courfeyrac's face lit up in excitement. "I shall be there friend."

Combeferre nodded. "Good. Let Marius know as well. And inform Grantaire if you see him as well, who knows where he will be tonight."

Combeferre stopped to inform Bahorel of the meeting then headed back to his apartment, knowing that when Joly was informed of the meeting Bousset would be as well.

Combeferre sat down at his desk with a sigh, looking at the mess of papers across the top. Here he had passed countless hours, hours spent writing, reading, worrying, planning, and hoping. Even fearing. Were they doing the right thing? Change was necessary yes, the government was inside out. But was violence the answer? For Combeferre knew that it would end in violence. Yet he could not help but fear that thought. Who would they lose in this struggle to come?

He knew he would not get any work done that night with those thoughts for company. With a sigh, Combeferre blew out his candle, knowing there was a long night ahead of him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Co-written with the-intrepid-poet on tumblr!  
> A slight twist on the classic tale, told from the perspectives of Jean Prouvaire and Combeferre as they struggle through the Revolution and it's aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ellipses indicate which section was written by whom. Jehan's perspective was written by the-intrepid-poet and I wrote the Combeferre sections

Prouvaire was up and awake earlier than normal. The excitement of the day kept him up most of the night anyway. He was too excited to go back to sleep. So, with a bit of a spring in his step, he started to walk to the Musain. About half-way there, Jehan paused in the street. Would Combeferre be awake by now? Probably. And Jehan didn't want to walk into the Musain so early by himself for some odd reason. Or maybe he just wanted Ferre's company?

Either way, Jehan soon found himself knocking on Combeferre's door –quietly, though in case he was indeed still asleep.

…

Combeferre slept badly, for the brief time he slept. All the emotions running through him refused him rest so he gave up and got out of bed earlier than usual. He sat down at his desk with one of his philosophy books, hoping to calm himself with comforting familiarity. He had already been reading for several minutes when he heard a light knock on his door.

He looked up with a frown, wondering who could be at his apartment so early. He closed the book and stood, walking quietly to the door. He opened the door to find Jehan standing on the doorstep.

"Jehan? What are you doing here so early?"

….

Prouvaire shrugged meekly. "I… Couldn't sleep for the rest of the morning so… I thought you'd want to walk to the Café together?" he asked quietly, shuffling his feet a bit in embarrassment. "That is if you weren't already asleep, and if you were pardonez-moi for waking you…" He sighed softly, thinking he was being a little ridiculous at the moment.

….

Combeferre chuckled at his friend's embarrassment for being at his door so early.

"Don't worry mon ami. I couldn't sleep either. Come in for a moment and wait while I dress. I'll only be a minute."

Combeferre let Jehan in and then shut the door, hurrying off to throw on some clothes. He grabbed his hat and put his glasses back on and then went back to his friend.

"Allons-y Jehan," Combeferre said with a smile, "We've got a big day ahead of us."

….

Jehan stepped into Combeferre's apartment and took a look around. He wasn't surprised to see books and papers scattered everywhere, but he was amazed at how many books Combeferre owned. Sure, Prouvaire had his share of poetry books, but Combeferre's collection made Jehan's seem inferior. Still, the poet was glad to see that someone else shared his fetish with books, though maybe on a more extreme level.

"Right behind you, mon ami," Jehan followed Combeferre out the door and through the streets. It was a fairly quiet morning, and the two made it to the Musain without any trouble. Of course, Enjolras was there already, and so was Courfeyrac. The others probably wouldn't be far behind.

"Look who's on time today!" Courfeyrac snickered, "Good work pulling him away from his books, Jehan." Prouvaire chuckled softly then went to sit down at a table to wait.

…..

Combeferre shot a mock glare at Courfeyrac as he walked up to Enjolras when they entered the Musain. "I hope this plan is good, Enjolras," he said to his leader, "and hopefully not too rash."

Enjolras smiled at his second in command. "Don't worry, Combeferre. Nothing too rash. Yet."

Combeferre rolled his eyes at Enjolras. "I'll believe that when I hear your plan," Combeferre said, "I know you, Enjolras. You can be quite terrible."

While Combeferre and Enjolras had been talking the room had grown louder as the other Amis arrived. Combeferre went and took a seat next to Jehan, eager to hear the plan Enjolras had come up with.

"I hope you have some new flier ideas, Jehan," he said the poet, "I have a feeling we are going to need them."

…

"Don't worry, I've got plenty," Jehan assured his friend, waiting for Enjolras to begin the meeting. They didn't have to wait long, as their leader called a silence over the room.

Enjolras stood tall, looking as fierce as ever, but still appearing so young. "My friends," he began, "It has come to my attention that General Lamarque is very ill. No one knows how much longer he will last. With him bedridden, he cannot fight for the people of Paris. Thus, it is now our time to act. We must begin our revolution soon, and we must inform the people of our plans. So, I propose that we hold a rally in front of General Lamarque's home in a few days' time."

Everyone took his words in, thinking them over. Grantaire broke the silence with his typical cynicism, "And what is our 'revolution' going to be? More strongly-worded pamphlets? Perhaps a letter to the King himself!" Jehan sighed softly at the sarcasm in his voice. It was times like these when he wondered why Grantaire bothered to stick around. However, watching the drunk shrink slightly under Enjolras' glare, the poet could hint at a guess.

"No, our Revolution will be something much bolder. We must send a message to the bourgeois: that they cannot simply ignore the streets of Paris any longer! We will build a Barricade to show that we are the masters of our own fate! We will show them that we cannot be treated like slaves any longer! This Barricade will symbolize freedom for the people of France! There, we will fight for our right to be free! The people will rise up and take their place as the caretakers of France! No more will this corrupt government take away our rights and freedoms! We will write our futures!"

Enjolras' speech quickly infected everyone with hope and anger. By the end of it, everyone was on their feet and applauding; Jehan the loudest of all. Faith blazed in his heart, and he was anxious to begin this rally now. It was time for the people to be free of this oppression.

….

Combeferre could feel the hope growing in his chest throughout Enjolras' speech. Not even Grantaire and his cynicism could take away from that moment. All during the speech Combeferre could see in his mind a new France, free of the taint of monarchy, governed by the people. Everything that they had ever hoped for, to be free, flashed through his thoughts. Combeferre was on his feet with the rest of them, grinning at his leader and feeling the fire grow.

Combeferre could still feel his logic gnawing at him though. They needed to plan, not just get fired up. The people needed to learn about the barricade, to be informed.

"That's all great, Enjolras," Combeferre called, quieting the group down a bit, "but we need to think logistics as well. What time will this rally be held? It will need to be soon since Lamarque is so ill. And what of other barricades? A single group of students cannot change the government with a single one barricade. We need to convince the people to rise, to join us."

"Exactly!" Grantaire called from his corner, where Enjolras proceeded to shoot him down with another look.

"All excellent points, Combeferre," Enjolras said, "All of which I have thought of. The rally's principle point is to inform the people, to convince them to rise with us when the time comes. We shall spread the word, plant different barricades at strategic points around Paris."

Enjolras glanced around at all of them, a fire in his eyes.

"This is where you all come in," he continued, "I will need everyone to begin spreading word around to the people. Find others you know, tell them of the rally, and tell them to be ready when the time comes. Jehan, this is where you come in. We need new fliers, something to really motivate the people."

…

Combeferre brought up good points, and thankfully, Enjolras had answers for them. Once again, Jehan was grateful that they had more than one brilliant mind in this group. Everyone worked together so well here. At their leader's beckoning, Jehan stood and passed his work to Enjolras. "I think these will work, I was up all night working on them. And… I think it would be a good idea if we had some kind of symbol to show who we are. Maybe something with the tricolor?" he suggested. It was something that had come to him late in the night. They needed something that identified them as the freedom fighters they were.

"I might be able to make something," Feuilly called from the back. If anyone could make something, the fan-maker could.

"Just remember its France we're fighting for, not Poland!" Grantaire laughed.

They spent the rest of the meeting discussing plans for the rally, for the Barricades, and going over Jehan's pamphlets. A few things were changed here and there, but Jehan was pleased that everyone seemed to like them. Everyone threw in ideas and support, working together to come up with a plan for the revolution.

…..

The rest of the meeting was a blur of planning and preparation. Jehan had come up with excellent pamphlet ideas and Combeferre was touched that Jehan had used a phrase that Combeferre had used at a previous meeting. He smiled at the poet when he looked at "Revolution but civilization" written out on that paper. Combeferre was right in the center of the planning, holding back everyone from getting too worked up and not thinking things through.

The day was nearly at an end and people when starting to drift out when it hit Combeferre as he stared at the papers still scattered across the table. Courfeyrac usually handled the printer, but he had long since disappeared. Combeferre cleared his throat.

"Enjolras, who is going to get all these fliers printed out?" he asked.

Enjolras looked around at who was still in the room thoughtfully.

"Who better than you and Jehan," he said, clapping Combeferre on the shoulder. "That can be your job tomorrow."

Combeferre sighed, knowing it was necessary but would also take away from another day of studying. He sensed that schoolwork would be pushed to the back for a while. He looked over at Jehan.

"Shall we meet at the printers when it opens tomorrow then?"

….

Jehan blushed when Combeferre noticed his own words written out on the pamphlet. What could he say? He liked the phrase and it seemed even more appropriate now. The poet was swept away into the hustle and bustle of planning and preparing that he lost track of time altogether. It wasn't until he was alone with Enjolras and Combeferre that Jehan realized how late it was. The streets were very dark by now. Usually, Jehan enjoyed his private walks, but it was one thing to walk the streets alone in the daytime, and another to walk alone at night. He wouldn't admit it openly, but walking home at night made Jehan nervous.

"Right… Sure," he replied distractedly, staring out the window at the pitch black streets. Maybe if he walked fast enough he could make it home without issue? Or maybe it would be better to spend the night in the Café? The wooden floors wouldn't compare with his bed, but Jehan would sacrifice comfort for safety any day.

…

Combeferre noticed Jehan's unease as his friend looked at the window. He knew that Jehan was always more gentle than the rest of them, but he never knew that his friend worried about the darkness. Combeferre knew how dangerous the streets of Paris could become at night, having nearly fallen victim to a mugging once himself. He didn't want anything of the like to befall his friend, and he certainly didn't want Jehan to be forced to do something he was uncomfortable with. Combeferre cleared his throat.

"You know, Jehan, my house is much closer to both the café and the printers than yours. Perhaps you should simply stay with me tonight? I have a second mattress. It would be no trouble at all."

….

As much as he didn't want to walk home by himself, Jehan didn't want to impose on his friend. "No, no! I… I don't want to be a bother! Erm… It's a kind gesture, mon ami, but…" he stammered, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly.

Enjolras smirked and shook his head at Prouvaire's gentle soul. "Prouvaire, he wouldn't offer if it would be trouble," he pointed out before heading downstairs, leaving the two of them to sort this out. As long as neither of them got hurt, Enjolras would be happy with whatever they chose.

Jehan sighed and laughed at himself. "Oh alright, I'll join you tonight. Merci beaucoup, mon ami," he conceded with a little nod of his head.

…..

Combeferre laughed at Jehan's embarrassment. "As both Enjolras and I have said, it really is no trouble, Jehan. Now let's gather up the fliers and leave."

They gathered up the fliers quickly. Combeferre clapped his friend on the shoulder and started down the stairs and headed out the front door. Combeferre and Jehan started down the street, following Combeferre's usual route. The night was darker than usual, the moon only a sliver in the sky and clouds dotting out a lot of the stars. It was so dark that neither men noticed the gang of robbers until the street behind and in front of them was blocked by the group of men.

….

Prouvaire immediately froze next to Combeferre. He nearly laughed at the irony of it all –nearly. Here he thought walking with another person would protect them from things like this. Apparently the robbers of Paris weren't picky. And where were the police now? Jehan wondered.

"Alright boys, empty your pockets and no one gets hurt," the man in front demanded. He was rather tall with greasy black hair and a flat nose. It seemed he was the leader of this whole gang.

Jehan swallowed nervously. Of all the days to forget his money… "Monsieur, there seems to be a small misunderstanding," the poet explained with a shaky voice, "You see, my friend and I are just students; we don't have much, and I'm sure you have more important things to do than rob two boys not worth the effort of robbing." He hoped he could charm their way out of this mess, but looking at the robber's grotesque expression, Jehan was beginning to doubt they'd get out of this without a little scrap.

The flat-nosed leader snorted, "Anythin's worth anythin' now a days. I won't say it again. Empty your pockets." He nodded to some of the other men who started closing in on the two boys.

Jehan edged closer to Combeferre, glancing sideways at him. Hopefully he would come up with a better plan…

….

Combeferre glanced around, measuring the odds against him and Jehan. They were not looking good. The two students were hopelessly outnumbered and neither of them was much in the way of fighting. Combeferre listened to Jehan trying to talk their way out of the situation, knowing it was hopeless. As the robbers closed in Combeferre raised his hands in a placating gesture and stepped forward a bit.

"Look we don't want any –" he was abruptly cut off when one of the larger men shoved him into a wall. He distantly heard his glasses crack on the ground but was too busy trying to get his breath back. He shoved the robber off and stumbled back towards Jehan, prepared to go down fighting.

Suddenly a voice called out, "Stop!"

All the men froze, looking towards the sound. There was a slender figure standing at the end of the ally. It stepped forward and Combeferre saw that it was Eponine, who hung around Marius all the time. Eponine stepped forward, a glare on her face.

"Back off all of you," she said, "These men have nothing for you."

The leader snorted. "Oh what do you know, Eponine? Go home and mind your own business."

Eponine planted herself between the robbers and the two students. "Take your own advice, Montparnasse. Try anything and I'll scream for the police. There are always a few nearby. Now get out of here."

The robbers all scowled but Montparnasse made a motion and soon they had all blended into shadow. Combeferre let out a sigh of relief. He turned to Eponine.

"Thank you. I thought Jehan and I were done for. How can I repay you?"

Eponine shook her head. "It was nothing Monsieur," she said, "Those men are nothing but trouble. But you should hurry up and get home. They won't be happy and I might not be around next time."

Combeferre went and picked up his glasses from where they had fallen, sighing at the broken lenses. "Well thank you again. Get somewhere safe." Combeferre watched as she disappeared into the shadows and then he turned to Jehan.

"Well mon ami. Let's get to my apartment before our luck gets any worse!"

…

When Combeferre was shoved into the wall, Jehan stepped forward to help, but was thrown down onto the street. Thankfully he managed to catch himself and even threw a little kick at his attacker. Of course, the blow was only glancing, but it gave Jehan enough time to get back on his feet. He instinctively put his back to Combeferre's, ready for a fight. Then Eponine showed up and broke it up. The poet breathed a sigh of relief.

He thanked the girl before she ran off, hoping she wouldn't get into any trouble for this. Then he turned back to Combeferre with a soft smirk. "I'm not sure how it could get-" His cliché phrase was interrupted by a clap of thunder, and then it began to drizzle. "Never mind…" the poet sighed, pulling his jacket up over his head to shield it from the oncoming rain.

Soaked to the bone, the two boys made it to Combeferre's apartment. Jehan took his jacket off and politely left it hanging near the door with his shoes. He didn't want to track water and mud into his friend's home. He was about to comment on how nice the place looked when he sneezed violently. "Well, Joly will be avoiding me tomorrow," he chuckled.

….

Combeferre shot a glare at Jehan for opening his mouth when it started to rain. Just what they needed. He left his coat and shoes next to Jehan's near the front of his apartment. Combeferre started to laugh at his friend's oncoming cold but he too was interrupted by a sneeze. Combeferre sighed.

"I guess he's avoiding the both of us then." He set his broken glasses down on the desk before lighting a few candles to add light since it was so dark. He went and dug through his clothes, throwing Jehan and old pair of pants and a shirt to change out of his wet ones. Combeferre changed out of his wet clothes and then went to rummage for something to eat. He found some bread and a little bit of cheese but only had water to offer, which he did with an apologetic smile at Jehan.

He fought back a yawn as he pulled the second mattress from underneath his own, setting it in a corner of the room for Jehan to use.

"We should probably just call it a night before anything else happens," he said with a chuckle.

….

Jehan fumbled with the thrown clothes but nodded in thanks, quickly peeling of his wet clothes and putting them away to dry for the night. He ate only a little of the bread and cheese, knowing how hard it was to get that much food now a days. Jehan didn't mind only having water, he wasn't too much of a drinker in the first place.

Prouvaire flopped down on the mattress, stretching out on his back with a yawn that mixed with his laughter. "I bet the others haven't had this much trouble," Jehan mumbled, on the verge of sleep as today's events caught up with him. It was surprising how planning a revolution could be so mentally draining.

…..

Combeferre merely groaned at Jehan's comment, already nearly asleep having just fallen onto his mattress. He knew he would have no trouble sleeping tonight after the all too entirely draining past couple of days. He felt himself drifting off into blissful peace.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Co-written with the-intrepid-poet on tumblr!  
> A slight twist on the classic tale, told from the perspectives of Jean Prouvaire and Combeferre as they struggle through the Revolution and it's aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ellipses indicate which section was written by whom. Jehan's perspective was written by the-intrepid-poet and I wrote the Combeferre sections

Combeferre woke entirely too early. What woke him, he couldn't say. He fumbled for his glasses in the dark, forgetting in the fog of sleep that they had broken the night before. With a sigh, he checked his watch and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He climbed out of his bed and went over to Jehan, who was still asleep. He nudged the poet.

"Jehan," he mumbled, "It's time to get up mon ami, the printer opens in an hour. We want to get there early to get the fliers ready as soon as possible."

With that he shuffled off to get a drink, pausing to sneeze, feeling the effects of the cold caused by last night's downpour. He split the last of the bread, leaving some aside for Jehan. Combeferre looked out the window, glad to see that the day looked to be rain free.

…..

He slept pretty well for one sleeping on just a mattress and the floor. Typically whenever Prouvaire managed to fall asleep, he usually stayed asleep. The night was filled with pleasant dreams of walks through multitudes of flowers. Then someone nudged him and said something about getting up. It took Jehan a moment to register that he wasn't in his own room. The voice speaking belonged to Combeferre.

The sleepy poet mumbled something unintelligible and rolled over on his stomach. He arched his back up rather like a cat, stretching until his shoulders popped. Then he sat up, rubbing the sleepiness from his eyes. After a few minutes, Jehan joined Combeferre by the window, nibbling on the bread that had been left for him. "Looks like a nice morning," he remarked, "No more rain at least."

Jehan looked from the view and to Combeferre. "Erm… Thanks again for letting me sleep here last night. If there's anything I can do to make it up to you, just let me know, mon ami," he said seriously. He didn't exactly know how to do that yet, but somehow he would repay this kindness.

…..

Combeferre grinned at his friend thanking him yet again. "Really, Jehan, it was nothing." He went over to his desk to inspect his glasses in the light, seeing that the lenses were completely ruined. Combeferre shook his head, knowing he didn't have the money to replace them right now and would just have to make due. He set them back down on top of a stack of books and went to put his, thankfully fully dry, shoes back on.

"Shall we head out?" he asked his friend, "We want to get there when they open the shop. We will need the fliers for tomorrow." Combeferre stood up and put his coat on, grabbing his hat off the hook.

…..

Jehan wouldn't give up that easily, though, and seeing Combeferre's broken glasses gave the poet an idea. "Will you be alright without your glasses?" he asked. He slipped his own shoes on and put his jacket back on. Staring at the bundle of wet clothes, Prouvaire decided it would be better to come pick them up later. He'd have his hands full with pamphlets anyway.

While his friend was distracted with putting on his coat and the question, Jehan casually moved toward Combeferre's desk. Still facing him, Jehan felt around for Combeferre's glasses. Finding them, he quickly snatched them up and tucked them away in a pocket for safe-keeping. He'd have to find a way to get to a store later.

Hoping Combeferre wouldn't notice his missing spectacles, Prouvaire quickly moved to the door and opened it. "Lead the way, mon ami," he gestured to the streets below.

…..

"I'll make due," Combeferre replied to Jehan's question about his glasses, "I just won't be able to do much reading." He sighed. Yet another reason to fall behind on his school work. Jehan and Combeferre walked out to the street and Combeferre led the way to the printers. The streets of Paris were bustling. The rich drove by in their carriages or strolled peacefully down the streets, shop keepers tended to their merchandise, shoppers went about their business. And in the midst of it all was the poor. Young and old, they were on every street, in every alley, people just trying to survive day to day, scrounging up enough food just to get by.

Combeferre's step was brisk as he walked past them all, knowing that they were the reason he was doing everything. The government did nothing to stop the wealthy from accumulating it all and leaving nothing behind for the rest of humanity. The injustice of it all burned Combeferre. A group of street urchins ran by, the oldest no more than 12. Young children abandoned to make a life on the unfriendly streets of Paris.

Combeferre's thoughts kept him busy until him and Jehan reached the printers, which was just opening. Combeferre pushed open the door and stepped inside.

"Monsieur?" he called out, looking around for the printer.

….

Walks like these through the crowded streets reminded Jehan why he chose to join up with Enjolras and the others. He hated to see anyone suffer, especially when those with more money to spare couldn't be bothered to give a second glance to the poor. The government placed themselves on so high a pedestal that they forgot to look down. He was lucky enough to be born into a well-to-do family, and then to have a job writing poems for the local papers. Too many weren't so lucky, and it was a shame that you had to be in order to live.

These thoughts in mind, Jehan was anxious to place their printing order as soon as possible. He followed Combeferre inside and waited for the printer to come greet them.

The printer, an old aged man bent from years at the press, slowly hobbled into the main room where the two boys waited. "What brings you in here so early, monsieurs?" he asked politely.

Jehan put the rough pamphlets on the table for the old man to see. "We'd like to make copies of these. A lot of them. We would like it if they were done by tomorrow, monsieur. We're friends of Courfeyrac," Jehan explained, figuring it wouldn't hurt to mention the charismatic youth.

…..

"Oh, Courfeyrac is one of my best customers! Anything for a friend of his. Such a charming young man. Now let me take a look at those."

Combeferre scooted out of the old man's way so that he could get to the pamphlets. The old man picked up each pamphlet, studying them carefully to see if they could be printed. Finally he nodded assent.

"Very well then. I shall start these right away. Now, I don't have many orders right now. Come by this evening and I should have them for you."

Combeferre felt a rush of relief. Finally something was going right!

"Thank you very much monsieur. We greatly appreciate all of this," Combeferre said.

"It is nothing young man. Now off with you both! Come back before closing and I will have them for you." With that the man gathered up the fliers and shuffled off to the back of the store.

Combeferre turned to Jehan, a grin on his face.

"Well Jehan, I believe our luck may be turning. Shall we go tell Enjolras the news?"

…..

Jehan mumbled a quick thank you to the printer before returning Combeferre's grin. "It would seem so!" he replied enthusiastically. Maybe today would turn out to be a good day? It started out so well, after all. The two stepped out of the shop, but before Jehan could step out into the street, a young boy collided with him. The poet was about to apologize when he saw the boy running off with his money.

"H-Hey! Get back here with that!" Jehan called. He looked helplessly to Combeferre before giving chase. It was hard to keep track of the small lad through the crowds, and equally as difficult to push through them. More than once, Jehan stumbled as he bumped into people. He ignored their angry retorts, focused on the small boy with his money.

The boy took a sharp turn down a side-street and Jehan quickly followed behind. The alley came to a dead-end about half-way down. The boy looked desperately for an escape, but Jehan blocked off the exit. "Look here, just give me my money back. I won't hurt you," Prouvaire reasoned with the frightened boy. He seemed to get through, as the lad came closer, extending the bag of coins to Jehan. The poet smiled, "There's a good- OW! Merde!" The cry escaped his lips as the boy suddenly lashed out and landed a surprisingly hard kick on Jehan's shin then tried to rush away.

…

Combeferre sighed in frustration when Jehan took chase after the thief. Would they ever catch a break? Combeferre quickly ran after them, keeping close to Jehan so as not to lose him or the boy in the crowd. When the boy kicked Jehan in the shin and tried to get past, Combeferre managed to grab him before he could leave the alley. The boy started kicking out, trying to get out of Combeferre's grasp but the student wasn't going to let go. He saw the boy drop the money bag and kicked it over to Jehan for him to grab.

When Jehan picked it up Combeferre let the boy go. He glared sullenly at them and started to leave and bumped into Gavroche, who had appeared at the end of the alley. Gavroche always hung around the Café and all the Les Amis looked out for him, Courfeyrac especially. Gavroche stood there with his hands on his hips frowning at the boy.

"What do you thing you were doing? Stealin' from 'im like that!" Gavroche scolded, acting every bit the mother for his young age, "Those there are the good guys! Get outta here!"

The other boy scampered off, looking chastised after the scolding from his leader. Gavroche turned to Jehan and Combeferre, a grin on his face.

"Hiya 'Ferre! Hiya Jehan! You really should watch your purses better."

Combeferre grinned at the little street urchin. "Not our faults Gavroche," he said, "We just have all the bad luck right now. We're about to head over to the Musain. Come with and we'll get you fed for coming to the rescue."

…

Jehan grumbled darkly as putting pressure on his shin caused a searing pain to shoot up his leg. Hopefully the pain wouldn't last for too long. He flashed a weak smile at Combeferre, then turned a bigger one on little Gavroche. "Thanks, Gavroche, maybe you can be our good-luck charm?" he laughed. The small boy had grown on all of the Amis, but especially on Courfeyrac it seemed. Having Gavroche's optimism around was refreshing, that was for sure.

Wincing a bit with each step, Jehan walked with the two to the Musain. Half of the group was there already and everyone smiled when they saw Gavroche come in. "Madame! Could you fetch Gavroche a treat, si'l vous plaît?" the poet called down the stairs, "Heroes need rewards after all!"

"Heroes?" Joly questioned, "What happened now?" Jehan blushed a bit at the exasperation in his voice. The poet went on to explain how the urchin had stolen from him, how they chased him to an alley, and how Gavroche showed up to save the day. Conveniently, he left out the shin-kicking part.

"And what happened to your glasses, 'Ferre?" Courfeyrac asked.

…

Combeferre noticed Jehan limping the entire way to the Musain but didn't say anything. If he wanted to suffer instead of asking for help, Combeferre would just send Joly after him. He listened to Jehan's retelling of the story, about to tell Joly about his leg when Courfeyrac asked about his glasses. Combeferre sighed.

"Well last night, Jehan and I didn't leave here until after dark. On the way to my apartment," Combeferre paused, knowing they would never hear the end of it from Courfeyrac, "we ran into a street gang. I ended up shoved into a wall, and my glasses fell to the ground in the process. Lenses are broken."

All the others laughed at Combeferre and Jehan and their run of bad luck. Bossuet called out, "Welcome to the group!" since he had the worst luck of anyone.

"Well at least no one is injured after this adventure of yours," Joly put in.

Combeferre grinned, seeing his opportunity. "Well you see, Joly," he started, flashing a look at Jehan, "Jehan here has a habit of trying to hide his injuries. I noticed him limping the whole way back to the Musain. Perhaps you should look at it?"

….

Prouvaire shot Combeferre the most irate glare he'd ever been seen giving anyone. Everyone in the room was a bit surprised that the timid poet could muster such a stare. Never the less, it didn't stop Joly from immediately checking his ankle. Jehan sighed and extended his leg, grudgingly answering whatever questions he could. Joly's diagnosis was simply a slight bruising. The pain would go away eventually, but he made Jehan swear to stay sitting during the entire meeting.

"Any good news?" Enjolras asked with a ghost of a smile.

"We put in the order for the pamphlets," Jehan replied, "They should be ready tonight."

"Well, I say you two shouldn't go anywhere at night anymore," Grantaire laughed, "Don't need you getting yourselves killed already and taking from the soldier's sport!"

Prouvaire flinched slightly at that. Right, they would be making a Barricade soon. And that probably meant that the soldiers would be shooting at them. He swallowed nervously; did that mean they would be shooting back?

….

Combeferre noticed the thought that crossed Jehan's face but was distracted by Grantaire, who had been right behind Combeferre when he made that statement, and Combeferre got hit with the full force of the drunkard's breath.

"Well maybe we should just throw you at them and let your breath take care of it all!" Combeferre gave a slight shove and Grantaire went and sat down nearby. Combeferre sat down next to Jehan, relaxing amidst all their friends. Who could ask for a better group of men? Together, Combeferre truly believed that they could make a difference in France.

"Well Enjolras," Courfeyrac called, "Perhaps since these two have luck worth than our dear bald friend over there," he paused to grin at Bossuet, who acted properly insulted, before continuing, "I volunteer to retrieve the fliers from the printer. Wouldn't want two of them to lose them after all!"

Combeferre shot a mock glare at Courfeyrac while everyone laughed at him and Jehan. Enjolras nodded. "I agree Courfeyrac. Just make sure they get to the rally tomorrow." With that Enjolras stood up, in full leader mode. "We all know why we are here. General Lamarque is ill. This is our chance. The people are restless, Lamarque is their champion. This is our time to call them to our side, to prepare. Without Lamarque, their situation will worsen. They will have no champion among the rich. We will need to convince them to rise up, and become their own champions!"

Everyone was cheering, Enjolras' words once again bringing forward the fire they all had inside them. "Get some rest," Enjolras said, "We have a big day tomorrow. We meet at Lamarque's house. This is the start."

…

Jehan just blushed and scuffed the floor with the toe of his shoe under his friend's laughter. He knew they didn't mean any harm by it, but it was still embarrassing. It couldn't get any worse, though, could it? Hopefully he could get 'Ferre's glasses repaired before tomorrow. But he'd make sure to avoid any unpleasant looking streets.

The rest of the meeting was filled with planning and preparation for the rally. Everyone was assigned a different area to work the crowds. There was a small platform near the General's house where Enjolras would stand. Surprisingly, Marius volunteered to stand with him despite the disapproval he would receive from his rich grandfather. Jehan would be in the center of the crowd, passing out pamphlets and keeping people riled up. If and when the police showed up, he would direct people to safety.

When Enjolras ended the meeting, Prouvaire jumped to his feet –which drew a worried stare from Joly- and turned to Combeferre. "I think I'll just head home. No need in pushing my luck, right?" he chuckled. Really he just wanted an excuse to go to the shop and replace Combeferre's glasses.

…..

Combeferre looked at Jehan in surprise when the poet jumped up, in a rush to leave the meeting.

"I shall see you tomorrow then," he replied, watching as the poet disappeared down the stairs. He turned to Joly in bemusement. "Did that seem odd to you?"

Joly just shrugged, "Who can ever tell with Jehan? I just hope he rests up his ankle some. It could get worse if he doesn't."

Combeferre just shook his head and went over to talk to Marius, clapping him on the shoulder when he reached him. "That was very brave of you to volunteer to be so front and center Marius."

Marius blushed and shrugged, "I just felt it needed done. I believe in this revolution just as much as the rest of you and it's time I put in the effort."

"Combeferre!" Grantaire called from the corner where he and Bossuet were drinking, "Come and join us! Drink away your bad luck!"

Combeferre shook his head, "I think I would rather avoid Bossuet for the time being!" he replied, "Wouldn't want to lose my hair as well to top it all off!"

Combeferre decided to leave then, since he needed to stop and get some bread before the bakery closed. He headed down the stairs and out the Café, walking past his apartment a ways to get to his usual bakery. He bought the bread, looking at the sad amount of money he had left, before heading back to his apartment. On impulse, he sat at his desk to attempt to get some reading done. He quickly gave it up though, due to the headache forming from trying to read without his glasses.

Combeferre thought that maybe he could attempt to read with the broken lenses. It would be better than nothing after all. But when he went to reach for them they weren't where he had set them.

…..

Jehan went right from the Musain to the glasses shop. The shopkeeper took the broken spectacles and examined them up front. After Jehan paid him, the man moved to the back of the shop, telling the poet to come back in a few hours when the glasses were ready. With what money he could spare, Jehan bought a small meal of bread and dried meat, then sat down on a bench to wait. While waiting, he read a few pieces of poetry and even penned out a new poem. After that, he just quietly stared through the streets, watching the people interact with each other. Only occasionally would he glimpse someone of high-standing handing over some coins or bread to the poor –notably an elderly man and his daughter.

Two hours passed, then Jehan went back to the store. Combeferre's new glasses were ready and waiting for him when he got there. He thanked the owner and gave him a little more money for doing such a good job on short-notice. Grinning a bit along the way, Jehan followed the streets down to Combeferre's apartment. Wouldn't his friend be surprised!

Tucking the glasses away, Jehan knocked softly on Combeferre's door. This was just a quick visit to pick up his extra clothes. Completely natural.

…..

Combeferre had searched his apartment high and low for his glasses, but had no luck. He cursed, knowing it would cost more to replace them than it would have to simply have them fixed. He was going through the items on his desk once more when he heard a knock on his door.

Answering it, he was surprised to see Jehan standing there.

"Jehan! What are you doing here?" Combeferre asked. "Oh I suppose you're here for your clothes yes? I forgot that you had left them here this morning. Come on in."

He stepped aside to let Jehan in and shut the door behind him.

"By the way," Combeferre started, "Did you see where I put my glasses this morning? I can't find them anywhere."

….

Jehan tried to keep a straight face, but simply could not. He had meant to pull something clever on Combeferre, but seeing his friend's apartment in such disarray was too hilarious. "Oh, you mean these?" he asked casually, taking out the new pair from a pocket and extending them to Combeferre.

"They were broken because I couldn't just be brave and walk alone," the poet when on in a serious note, "So I just felt responsible. Take them as an apology and as a thank you for letting me stay with you last night, mon ami."

Deciding he'd rather not stick around and let Combeferre try and change the situation, Jehan started for the door…

…

Combeferre numbly took the glasses from Jehan, shocked at their brand new state. He simply couldn't believe that Jehan would spend the money on these! He listened to Jehan's explanation for why he did it but quickly blocked the poet's why when he tried to get out the door. Combeferre had never been good at accepting gifts, always having been far too independent for that. He always got awkward and tongue tied.

"Jehan…" Combeferre paused, not wanting to offend his friend, "You really should not have spent the money on this. I appreciate it! Really I do. But please let me pay you back. I… this is really too much."

Combeferre started to reach for his pockets to find some money to pay his friend back with.

….

Jehan just smiled softly, not offended in the slightest. He shook his head and moved back into the room. "There's no need for that," he said, "We're friends now, aren't we? You don't have to do anything for me, Combeferre." Although his words were stern, he was still smiling, which probably took away from the effect, but Jehan couldn't help it.

"If it bothers you that much, you can buy me diner tomorrow," the poet conceded. Of course, he would choose the cheapest meal possible, but he didn't want Combeferre to be so worried.

…

Combeferre sighed, seeing that Jehan was set and wouldn't take any meager sum Combeferre could come up with. He smiled and put his glasses on, settling into their usual spot.

"Thank you Jehan. Really. Anything I can do for you, just ask. Dinner tomorrow is a deal. We shall celebrate our successful rally!"

Combeferre moved out of the way of the door. "Not that I am kicking you out, but if you want to make it home before dark I suggest you go. We wouldn't want you to get cornered in an alley after all. Oh and here," Combeferre went and grabbed Jehan's clothes, which he had moved out of the way when he was hunting for his glasses, "You don't want to forget these."

….

"It's a deal!" Jehan chimed, grinning happily. He grabbed his clothes and started to head out the door. However, he turned around and impulsively clapped Combeferre on the shoulder. "Good luck tomorrow, mon ami, a new civilization is dawning," he said, hope glittering in his eyes. He truly believed that they would make a difference in this world. They could change France and bring hope to the poor of the streets.

With a dreamy sigh, Jehan nodded once more to his friend then headed out. Thankfully, he made it safely to his flat before the sun set. He was too excited to sleep, but made himself lay down anyway. It was late before he finally fell asleep, and even then he dreamt of the coming revolution.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Co-written with the-intrepid-poet on tumblr!  
> A slight twist on the classic tale, told from the perspectives of Jean Prouvaire and Combeferre as they struggle through the Revolution and it's aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ellipses indicate which section was written by whom. Jehan's perspective was written by the-intrepid-poet and I wrote the Combeferre sections

Prouvaire was up early again, ate a quick breakfast, and headed out the door. It was a longer walk to the General's house, but Jehan made it without any issue. Courfeyrac, Enjolras, and Marius were already there up on the platform. The poet smiled a greeting to the three, and then took his stack of pamphlets. They turned out better than he had hoped.

"Are you ready, Jehan?" Enjolras asked.

Jehan grinned excitedly, "More than ready, Enjolras."

…

After Jehan left Combeferre decided to break in his newly repaired glasses and read for a while. That while turned late into the night before he finally decided he should go to bed. When he did that, it was still a while before he could sleep, excitement coursing through him for the coming days. He could feel that change was coming. Soon, Combeferre knew his world would be entirely different. He dreamt of a new civilization, awaiting the coming dawn that would rise and change the whole of France.

Combeferre woke at dawn, only a little light on the horizon. He quickly dressed and left the house, making it to Lemarque's house shortly after Jehan did. He walked over to the group of students, clapping Jehan on the shoulder with a grin.

"Well my friends, shall we call the people?" he asked. Slowly the crowd grew as the day went on. Soon, there were people all around the platform, calling for change. The students were extremely busy, passing out fliers, calling to the crowd, encouraging change. Combeferre was right in the center of it all, fliers leaving his hand quickly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Courfeyrac run to Enjolras after speaking to someone at the door of the General's house.

"People of Paris!" Enjolras called, "General Lamarque will not last the week! Will we sit idly by after your champion dies!"

The people began shouting louder, calling for change. For a champion.

"We must rise up!" Enjolras continued, glowing with the force of his passion, "We must become our own champions! Change the country, and you shall better your own lives!"

The crowd was frenzied. Combeferre could see that they were one push from action. He turned his head and could see police officers on horseback at the end of the street, heading right towards them. "Enjolras!" he called, heading towards the platform, "Police! We need to move!"

….

Enjolras looked over the crowd, and it was easy to see the challenge blazing in his eyes as he stared at the incoming police. However, Jehan knew he wouldn't risk the lives of the people. "If you wish to be your own champions, come to the Café Musain tomorrow night! We will plan our revolution then!" he called to the people before jumping down off the platform.

By then the police arrived and began pushing the crowd back. Some people ran at the students' bidding while others stayed and shouted abuses at the mounted officers. He didn't know who started it, but Jehan heard a chant rising with the group. "Vive la France! Vive la France!" they shouted at the top of their lungs, and Jehan joined them.

However, now was not the time to completely rebel. So, the group quelled and departed. The students headed back to the Musain. Jehan moved through the crowds and came up beside Combeferre, all smiles and joy. "That went extremely well!" he cried, "Did you see how the people reacted to Enjolras? And that chant when the police showed up!" It was one thing for a group of students to conspire together, but another thing entirely to have a whole city at your back.

The two got back to the Musain just as the rest of the students did. Still riled up from the rally, they all talked excitedly amongst themselves.

"So what now, Enjolras?" Courfeyrac asked over the din, "What's our next move?"

….

Combeferre quickly started informing the people around to back away when the police began pushing forward. Though he too joined in with the cry of "Vive la France!" he still knew better than to get caught in the middle of it. Combeferre retreated with the rest of the students. Jehan came up to him as they walked, glowing with excitement. He grinned back at his friend.

"This is the just the beginning Jehan! Watch our plans come together piece by piece!"

They entered the Musian, talking excitedly with everyone else. That soon stopped at Courfeyrac's question. Everyone looked expectantly at Enjolras, looking for their leader's guidance. Combeferre looked at Enjolras, still fiery from the excitement of the rally and the people's support.

"Our plan, my friends, is to keep the people ready. Lamarque is very ill. That will be our moment to strike. The people will be ready to unite with us. Then, we shall barricade strategic points of the city and force the government to change their ways."

The students erupted into excited conversation once more. Combeferre noticed Gavroche run up the stairs. Courfeyrac went over and bent to listen to what the street urchin had to say. He straightened up and called for everybody to be quiet. Gavroche looked around before announcing "General Lamarque is dead."

Silence fell. Enjolras looked thoughtful. "This is it," he said, the fire in his eyes seeming to glow brighter, "This is our time. Gavroche, did they say when the funeral would be?"

The boy nodded. "The day after tomorrow. At noon."

Enjolras nodded. "We shall build our barricade then. Interrupt the procession, make a statement to the government, show the people to rise up."

"We will need guns," Combeferre put in, now allowing anyone to get ahead of themselves.

"I can get some," Courfeyrac put in, "I know a guy," he added with a shrug.

"Good," Enjolras nodded, "That's your job Courfeyrac. The rest of you, be rested, and be ready."

…

Lamarque was dead? Already? That didn't have to do with their rally did it? The sting of guilt went away, though, as Jehan realized that was probably what Lamarque wanted to die to; the sound of his people rising up. He was probably proud. Jehan figured the funeral would be a grandiose thing; something Lamarque wouldn't have wanted in the first place. What better place to begin their revolution than on the grave of the people's hero?

Excitement built up in the chests of everyone assembled. They chatted amongst each other, going on about the barricades and where to build them. Others not in their immediate circle volunteered to build the other barricades while the students manned the one outside the Café. It was all coming together. Jehan was too eager to begin to fear yet. He'd never fired a gun at anyone before, but now was not the time to dwell on that. He would do what needed to be done to push the revolution forward.

About halfway through the meeting, Marius came up the stairs, a dazed look in his eyes. He didn't even make an effort to meld in with the group. Enjolras looked up at him with a very annoyed look. "Marius, you're late," he snapped.

"What's wrong, friend? You look as if you've seen a ghost," Joly commented.

From his usual corner, Grantaire held up a bottle of absinthe. "Have a drink and tell us what's going on!" he laughed. Marius –still in his confused state- sat down at a table. Grantaire moved over to join him, clearly enjoying himself despite Enjolras' stares. The young man absently took a sip of wine. "She could have been one. One minute she was there and then the next she was gone. But what a beautiful ghost she was!" Marius sighed dreamily.

Grantaire and everyone else around Marius laughed. "Prouvaire! I hope you're writing a new poem about this! Here, let me help!" Grantaire stood up on one of the tables and recited:

"I am agog, I am aghast!

Is Marius in love at last?

I've never heard him "ooh" and "ahh"

We talk of battles to be won

And here he comes like Don Juan!

It is better than an opera!"

Depsite the tension in the air around Enjolras, Jehan couldn't help but snicker at Grantaire's stanza. He even applauded lightly, surprised that the drunkard had such a creative mind.

…..

Combeferre looked up from his planning when Marius came in. He saw that the law student had a sort of dazed look in his eyes, the fire from the rally completely gone. Combeferre listened as Joly asked Marius what was wrong, shaking his head when he realized Marius was all worked up over a girl. Grantaire took that as his moment to strike, singing out a loud poem that surprised Combeferre. He didn't know that their resident cynic even knew how to rhyme.

Enjolras had grown steadily more irate throughout the whole exchange. He went over to where Joly, Grantaire, and Marius were sitting. Combeferre couldn't hear what he said, but Joly and Grantaire calmed right down. Marius, on the other hand, obviously was love-struck and stood up when Enjolras started to walk away.

"You would understand had you seen her Enjolras!" he called after their leader, "My whole world has been changed!"

Combeferre raised his eyebrows, surprised that anyone would push Enjolras in a time of so much pressure. He waited for the lecture he knew would be coming from their leader, and was not disappointed. Enjolras pinned Marius with his stare.

"Who cares about your lonely soul Marius?" Enjolras looked at everyone in the room. No one dared say a word, so intense was he at that moment. "Our goal is too important to be sidetracked. How can we truly live, when are not free? I begin to feel that some of you have not taken our plans seriously. Have you asked yourselves what the price you might pay is? If not, I suggest you do. For we fight for freedom. For the right to unite at the opera. For the right to live."

Combeferre applauded with the rest of the students. He had of course thought about the fact that he might die during their revolution. He was prepared to do that. France needed change, she needed civilization. Combeferre was willing to do that, even if it cost him his life. Combeferre saw movement on the stairs and saw Eponine standing there. Marius hurried over there and the two ran off. Combeferre shook his head. Marius had always been more of a dreamer, but someday the reality of what they were doing would hit him. Combeferre just hoped Marius would be prepared for that moment.

…..

Jehan found himself cringing on Marius' behalf. He couldn't imagine what it must be like to be under such a stern stare. It was amazing how Enjolras could be so fierce at times. Still, maybe they were being a little harsh on Marius? Love could do wonderful things to a man's soul. However, as Enjolras delved into another lecture, Jehan realized that now wasn't the time for such selfish feelings.

Enjolras' heavy words rang in the poet's ears. Was he really willing to give everything for this revolution? Would he be willing to lay down his life if it came to it? Staring around at the faces of his friends, Jehan knew he would do anything to make sure they were all safe. He would do the same for the people of France. They deserved to have as much freedom as he and his friends did, and he would fight to make that happen.

Marius left with Eponine, and Jehan watched them leave with a curious stare. Was he going to see this girl? Did Eponine know where she lived? He sighed softly then shrugged a shoulder. Even though the timing was off, the whole thing was still romantic to Jehan. The poet was brought out of his daydreaming when Feuilly started passing something out from a sack he had.

"Just something to help everyone identify us," the fan-maker explained, handing out tricolored rosettes to each student present. Jehan examined his and admired the excellent craftsmanship. Each rosette was just slightly different from the other, giving them a unique flare.

"Nice work, Feuilly!" Jehan praised, pinning his on. Feuilly even made a smaller one for Gavroche, who wore it with pride.

…

Combeferre took his rosette from Feuilly and immediately pinned it on his jacket. "Very nice Feuilly," he said with a smile to the fan maker. Combeferre looked around at all of the students as they all admired each other's rosettes, and he felt a surge of emotion. Here they all were, on the edge of something greater than themselves. How many of them would not be standing here in a few days' time though? Who would fall in the battles that they all knew were coming? To lose any one of them would be torture to Combeferre. These men were his family, and the loss of any one of them would create a hole that could never be filled.

Combeferre shook himself from his dark thoughts. There would be time for those later. For now, they were celebrating. The people were on their side, and the time for change was near. Combeferre went over to Enjolras, who was talking to the owner of the café.

"What was that about?" Combeferre asked as she walked away.

"She is going to make us a flag," Enjolras smiled, "Solid red. That will be our signal at the funeral, as well the banner for our barricade."

"A good color," Combeferre replied, "Eye catching. Motivating. It'll match your jacket as well," he added with a smirk.

Enjolras laughed and went to discuss guns with Courfeyrac. Combeferre took off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose, feeling the small amount of sleep he had gotten over the past few days catching up with him. With a sigh, he replaced his glasses and went over to sit with Jehan.

…...

Still caught up in the emotions of the rally and the meeting, Jehan sat at his table and began writing another poem. Occasionally he would glance up whenever someone addressed him, but other than that he kept to himself. He poured all of his emotions into this one poem; his hope, his fear, his love for his friends, and his excitement for the new day dawning.

"Writing that poem for Marius, eh Prouvaire?" Grantaire's voice interrupted Jehan's train of thought. Still he looked up with a straight-forward smile and replied, "No I'm writing one about you and Enjolras." The poet had never seen Grantaire turn so red. He took a long drink from his bottle and turned away. Jehan snickered softly to himself. He'd seen how the drunkard looked at Enjolras whenever the man spoke…

Jehan finished up the last stanza of the poem when Combeferre joined him. He smiled softly at his friend, noticing how tired he looked. "You should rest up before tomorrow. We'll need everyone at their best," he urged, "Especially our guide."

…..

Combeferre listened as Jehan told him to get some sleep, knowing he should. They had a big day of planning ahead of them tomorrow. They had to make sure everything would be ready for Lamarque's funeral. Yet Combeferre couldn't bring himself to leave. He knew that soon everything would change, and he wanted to enjoy the presence of his friends. They all seemed to have the same idea, as everyone was still around. They all seemed to be louder than normal as well.

"I will soon," Combeferre replied to Jehan, "I think I'll hang around here for a bit though."

Before Jehan could say anything else Courfeyrac had pulled Combeferre over to join in their drinking game. It consisted of making statements towards Enjolras and seeing how fired up they made him. Everyone else then had to drink. Combeferre knew all the right buttons to push so he of course drank the least of everyone. He still enjoyed himself immensely, feeling relaxed for the first time in days. The game ended when Grantaire, who was of course drunker than anyone, sat down in Enjolras' lap and tried to play with his curls. This caused Enjolras to dump Grantaire to the ground and leave, saying he would see them all tomorrow for planning.

Combeferre stood up and stretched, knowing he too needed to leave and get some sleep.

"I will see you all tomorrow," he said, putting his hat on, "Someone make sure Grantaire doesn't end up in a gutter somewhere." With that last bit of advice, he walked out of the Café and headed home.

….

At first, Jehan just watched and laughed at the silliness of the drinking game. However, Courfeyrac soon pulled him into it as well. After about the fifth drink, Prouvaire was slightly drunker than the rest of them. He'd always been a bit of a lightweight when it came to strong drinks mainly because he never drank too much. He was laughing and having a merry time with the others. Why not go all out on their last night of fun together? Who knew when they would get a night like this again? And who knew which of them wouldn't survive…

These thoughts were only passing as the night went on. Jehan recited slurred poems, receiving applause and whistles from his friends. He even put his hair into one long braid. By this point, Grantaire was passed out on the floor. This gave the remaining boys an idea. Trying not to laugh too loudly, they gathered around as Jehan braided bits and pieces of the drunkard's hair –the strands that were long enough anyway. Then they couldn't resist putting a few flowers in the braids.

"There. Now you wouldn't know what a drunkard he is!" Courfeyrac laughed. After a while, everyone but Courf, Grantaire, and Jehan left the Café. Jehan gathered up his things, feeling the effects of the alcohol leaving his system. "Do you know where he lives?" the poet asked Courfeyrac.

He shrugged, "Not really. He can stay with me tonight. I'll take the blame for the hair." With that, he picked up the drunkard and headed downstairs. Jehan helped him get Grantaire out of the Café, then headed home. Sighing softly, he lay down on his bed and stared out his window. Everything would change tomorrow. They'd be fighting for the people. Some of them might not make it. Tonight may have been the last night they were all together like that. Brothers in arms. Prouvaire sighed again, pushing those thoughts aside as he tried to get a good night's sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Co-written with the-intrepid-poet on tumblr!  
> A slight twist on the classic tale, told from the perspectives of Jean Prouvaire and Combeferre as they struggle through the Revolution and it's aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ellipses indicate which section was written by whom. Jehan's perspective was written by the-intrepid-poet and I wrote the Combeferre sections

Combeferre thankfully made it home without incident. He shuffled into his bedroom, beginning to feel the exhaustion wear him down. He fell into bed, his eyes already closing. Thanks to the effects of his lack of well as well as the alcohol still in his system, he fell asleep almost instantly. When Combeferre awoke the sun was already fully risen. He groaned, his mouth dry and a small headache behind his eyes. There was a reason he usually avoided Grantaire and his drinking games. Though the hangover was barely there, it was there nonetheless and Combeferre hated any form of physical misery.

He got up and shuffled off to find a drink of water. He checked the time, knowing he needed to get to the Musain by midafternoon for planning tomorrow. That would be the day. Everything would come to a head in just 24 hours. The barricade's would rise and the people of Paris with them. He dressed and decided to go to Jehan's apartment first, knowing that the poet had had more to drink than usual and would probably be feeling that.

Combeferre smiled softly to himself as he reached the door of Jehan's apartment and knocked softly.

….

Although Jehan couldn't really hold down his liquor all that well, hangovers were typically non-existent for him. So, it was easy for him to get up that morning and get ready. He had forgotten to take the braid out, which made his hair annoyingly wavy, so he decided to leave it tied up. Grantaire's hair would be a mess for a while. The thought of it made the poet smirk. Jehan pinned the new rosette to his flowery vest. Not only was it an identifying symbol, but it was also a unifying one. It almost made their group more official.

He was just about to grab his book and set off when he heard a knock at his door. Curious, Jehan opened it, then smiled brightly at Combeferre. "Good morning, mon ami!" he greeted as chipper as ever, "Ready to plan a revolution?"

…

Combeferre simply stared at the chipper poet in front of him. Jehan had drunk just as much as Courfeyrac at least, yet there he was, looking not the least bit hung-over. Combeferre just shook his head, bemused as to how the poet managed to escape that fate.

"You're looking… chipper," Combeferre said, "Certainly escaped the horrible fate that I had predicted. That ruins the whole reason I came by. I thought for sure I was going to have to drag you out of bed. Well then, shall we head to the Musian?"

He turned and headed out of the building, followed by Jehan. The walk was uneventful, though Combeferre kept a watch on the sky, which was very overcast. They were one of the first ones there (aside from Enjolras of course). Combeferre walked over to Enjolras.

"Only one day more mon ami," Combeferre said with a smile.

"And then we shall change all of France," Enjolras replied.

Combeferre looked at the stairs as Courfeyrac and Grantaire stumbled in, looking absolutely horrible.

…..

Jehan blinked a bit, at first oblivious as to what Combeferre was hinting at. Then he took a closer look at his friend. Oh, right! He probably had a hangover. But he hadn't drunk all that much, hadn't he? That made the poet wonder if Courfeyrac and Grantaire would even show up today. Then they'd probably get an ear-full from Enjolras about the detriments of alcohol and how they couldn't afford to be out of their minds now. Still, it would be amusing to see at least.

Jehan chatted idly, but quietly, with Combeferre as they walked, keeping his friend's headache in mind. Joly might have a cure for them later. He joined Combeferre and Enjolras and smiled at the choice of words. One day more. One more day until all of France became what she was meant to be. One more day until the people will free. One more day until a new beginning. He chuckled softly; that was beginning to sound like a poem!

When Courfeyrac and Grantaire stumbled in, Jehan greeted them with a happy smile. "Glad to see you made it out of bed!" he laughed.

Grantaire grumbled something about lightweights and flowers before practically crawling to his corner. "Can we make this a fast one, Enjolras? My head is killing me," he grumbled.

"At least it's a pretty head," Courfeyrac grinned, staring at a flower Grantaire missed. The drunkard flailed at his hair, smacking the flower from it and tossing it to the ground as everyone laughed.

….

Combeferre laughed Grantaire's predicament. The man was thoroughly hung-over and judging by the state of his hair, Jehan had braided it at some point last night. His suspicion was confirmed when Courfeyrac pointed out a flower stuck in his curls. Courfeyrac come over to where Combeferre, Jehan, and Enjolras were standing. He looked a little worse for wear after the excitement of last night, but it took a lot to Courfeyrac down.

"How long will the meeting be Enjolras?" Courfeyrac asked, "I have to get my gun guy sometime this afternoon."

"It shouldn't take long. We just have to iron out some details for tomorrow. Our plans are mostly set," replied Enjolras.

Soon the room was filled with the Les Amis, all much quieter than normal after the excitement of last night. Combeferre could tell by looking around they were all nursing some level of hangover. Bossuet looked like he'd lost a fight with the ground, which he probably had. But still, they were all there. Every single one of them had their rosette pinned proudly to their clothes and Combeferre knew that they would be all action when the time came.

The meeting flew; the last few details were hammered out. They would meet at the nearest main road that the funeral procession would pass through. Enjolras would give a signal, and then it would begin. They would come back here and build their barricade, while other groups built theirs at other points of the city. Civilization was so close that Combeferre felt that he could just reach out and grab it.

…..

Jehan really did feel sorry for his friends who were hung-over, but he couldn't help but feel a little glad that he wasn't in their predicament. Everyone would think twice about joining Courfeyrac in one of his drinking games. Their spirits were lifted as the meeting progressed. Everyone knew what was at stake here and they knew what they would have to sacrifice. Jehan was more than proud to call these people his friends; his brothers. They would succeed. They would see a new France unfold before them.

Now all they had to do was wait for tomorrow. Jehan knew that would be the hardest part for everyone. He was nervous, of course, but also excited. This would be the last normal day any of them would have for a while. They made the preparations for the barricade, storing up food, water, and everything else they would need in the bottom floor of the Café.

They agreed to meet up one more time that night just to make sure they had everything they needed. It was also a final rally, one more night of dreaming before their plans were set in motion. By then Courfeyrac would have all the guns they needed. Enjolras encouraged them to go about their usual business; to enjoy one more day before the storm began. Jehan was at a loss as to what to do. How did he want to spend his last day before the battle?

He found himself joining Combeferre later. "What did you have planned for the rest of the day?" he asked timidly.

…

They all started organizing their supplies for the barricade, Combeferre right in the center of it all keeping things organized. With the whirlwind that was the Les Amis someone needed to do it. He cringed as Bossuet knocked over a crate, Joly quickly rushing to help him while Grantaire stood there laughing. Everywhere things were falling in place. Soon, everything was stacked and the Les Amis began drifting off to spend their day freely until the meeting that night.

Combeferre was one of the last there, simply going over the supplies again to make sure everything was neat. He didn't have any plans for the day. He supposed he could go home and read, but even that held no appeal to him right now. The dam was about to break and even his favorite books could not help distract him. He looked up as Jehan walked up to him asking his plans.

"Well I don't have anything planned," Combeferre replied, "Did you have something in mind?"

….

Prouvaire shrugged meekly, suddenly wondering if Combeferre would even want to join him. "I was… Thinking of just taking a walk before everything changes," he muttered. Jehan enjoyed his walks, but that didn't mean anyone else would. He probably should have just left Combeferre alone. He didn't even know where he would go; he would just let his feet guide him. That probably wouldn't appeal to the organized student standing before him.

He grabbed his coat off the back of his chair and slipped it on. "I mean… If you'd like to come along you're more than welcome to, but I understand if you don't…" he trailed off, feeling a blush coming on. Sure, he wanted to enjoy the day with his best friend, but he didn't want to impose on him either.

…..

Combeferre listened as Jehan muttered his way through the invite. Combeferre was smiling slightly at his friend's embarrassment. Jehan grabbed his coat and seemed to be about to leave.

"Wait Jehan," he said, smiling at the poet, "I would love to go on a walk with you. You don't have to be embarrassed to ask me you know. What are friends for?"

Combeferre grabbed his coat and put it on, heading out of the café with Jehan. They began to meander aimlessly, which didn't bother Combeferre in the slightest. After all the stress of the past few days it was nice to just relax and let his mind wander. He and Jehan talked about nothing, just chattering about whatever came to mind. The sun tried a few times to come out from behind the clouds but for the most part the day remained cloudy. Combeferre made sure to keep an eye on the sky. Knowing their luck, they would get caught in a downpour.

He paused next to a small field, leaning against a low wall.

"Everything's going to change soon," he said to Jehan, staring out at the few wildflowers, "Either France will be changed or we won't be here."

He looked over at Jehan, about to apologize for ruining the mood when it started to pour.

….

Jehan chuckled quietly at himself, wondering why he ever doubted Combeferre in the first place. They were friends, and friends looked out for each other, even if it was just to go out on a walk. Needless to say, the poet enjoyed his walk with Combeferre. It was nice to just let their minds wander away from all the stress and planning of the revolution. It was also nice to be out in nature and to just enjoy it's splendor. Unlike Combeferre, Jehan wasn't too worried or aware of the cloudy sky. If it rained, it rained. Nothing would dampen his spirits now. The day was too beautiful to be spent in dreary thoughts.

They paused by a field of wildflowers, and Jehan was about to comment on their beauty when Combeferre mentioned change. The poet flinched a little at "or we won't be here." He admittedly was afraid of death –who wasn't? Yet he felt a little ashamed of it. Enjolras asked them what they would pay to defend France. That price just might be their lives, and Jehan had to be ready to give it. He sighed softly, then reflexively looked up as a raindrop landed on his head.

Laughing at their luck, Jehan grabbed Combeferre's arm and pulled him away from the wall. He lead the way through the rain to his flat. When they got there, they were thankfully not as drenched as they had been a few nights ago. Jehan hung his coat up, then knelt by his fireplace and got a warm fire going. "You can stay here until the rain lets up, or however long you like," he invited, grinning softly at Combeferre.

He pulled his mattress of his bed and set it in front of the fire. Might as well have something comfortable to sit on, right? He found some left-over bread and cheese and even a few ripe strawberries. Figuring his friend wouldn't be so keen to consume any alcohol, Jehan just grabbed a pitcher of water. The two of them shared the nice meal as they warmed up by the fire.

….

Combeferre followed Jehan through the rain to the poet's apartment. He was thankfully not too soaked. He hung his coat up at Jehan's invitation to stay, smiling in thanks. He took his hat off, shaking out his hair. Combeferre joined his friend sitting on the mattress in front of the fire, enjoying the warmth on his damp clothes.

Sitting there, with a full belly and comfortably warm, in the company of his best friend, Combeferre felt more relaxed than he had in months. His life had been extraordinarily hectic with planning the revolution and all of his studies. He had taken hardly any time for himself. Now, knowing that tomorrow they could fall, he felt that was a major blunder. What was life for but to enjoy the little things, such as a good read, or the company of a friend.

Combeferre ran his fingers through his hair and looked over at Jehan. His friend looked entirely relaxed. Combeferre didn't want to spoil it but felt that he had to say something. He cleared his throat, never one for being overly emotional.

"Jehan," he started, "I… I just wanted to say that, well, thank you. For putting up with me all the time. For just being there. I know I can hardly be the called the best company, not in comparison to someone like Courfeyrac, and yet you always come back. I never had someone like you when I was younger. But, I am glad that you could consider me your friend. I just felt that I needed to say it in case it became too late."

Combeferre looked at Jehan through his bangs, his uncertainty in himself coming to the surface.

…

Jehan just sat on the mattress, eyes shut an enjoying the moment of relaxation. He knew it was just the calm before the storm, but he was ready for that storm now. He was brought out of his daydreams by Combeferre. Surprised, Jehan quietly listened to his friend with a small frown. Did Combeferre really think that of himself? Well, Jehan wouldn't have it. He scooted closer to his friend and put an arm around his shoulder.

"Combeferre, I consider you my friend because I like you the way you are. People like Courf can be a little… much sometimes. You're my best friend, and I wouldn't change anything about you. I like being around you because you're so level-headed. You keep me on my feet and keep my head out of the clouds," he said firmly. Jehan let go of Ferre and stared into the fire for a moment.

When he spoke again, his voice was soft and shaky, "For what it's worth… I'm glad that you see me as a friend. Most people don't really understand me, even some of the other Amis. But I feel like I can really be myself around you, and you don't mind. So, thank you, Combeferre, for being my friend. And if… If something happens tomorrow… I just want you to remember that." He cleared his throat and quickly wiped the moisture from his eyes. Sometimes he hated it when he got so emotional.

It was all true, though. Prouvaire valued friendships like the one he had forged with Combeferre. The two of them accepted each other no matter what happened between them. Yes, Jehan adored every one of the Les Amis, but the bond he had with Combeferre was profound indeed. Somehow, he knew it would pain him just a little more to see Ferre fall. Even imagining that happening sent a chill down Jehan's spine. He made a promise then and there, that no matter what happened to him, he would protect his friends.

….

Combeferre was a little surprised when Jehan put his arm around his shoulders. He listened quietly as the poet talked, blushing a little at his friends opinion of him. He watched quietly as Jehan stared at the fire, gathering his thoughts, more than a little surprised at his next confession. As Jehan wiped his eyes Combeferre acted. Copying the poets previous action, Combeferre put his arm around his friends shoulders.

"Jehan, I think it's quite impossible for someone not to want to be your friend. Without you, I don't think any of our lives would be quite complete. You're you, and you don't let anyone tell you otherwise. You don't worry, you just do. It's an honor to be your friend."

Combeferre let go of Jehan and sat back chuckling. "Aren't we quite the pair?" he said, grinning over at Jehan. He thought about his life, thinking back on the moments that stood out the most. The brightest and best were when he was with the Amis, and the brightest of those were with Jehan. While Combeferre would have spent his whole life surrounded by books, miserable in all his seriousness, Jehan had been there to pull him out and remind him to dream a little. Combeferre looked at Jehan, knowing he would do whatever it took to get his friend through the revolution alive.

He decided to check the time then, and sighed. "It's almost time for the meeting," he said, checking the window, "at least the rain has stopped."

….

Jehan slowly turned his head to look at Combeferre. His words –as usual- lifted the poet's spirits considerably. Ferre knew just what to say at the right time. He smiled in thanks and returned the one-armed hug. Combeferre was right, he shouldn't worry about what other people thought of him. The only opinion that mattered was his own. Yes, he valued his friends, but if he shaped himself to be what they wanted him to be, then Jehan wouldn't be Jehan. There was no one he'd rather be than himself.

He laughed at Combeferre's comment. Yes, they were quite the pair; so different but so similar. The poet and the philosopher. Yet, what better pair could ever exist? Combeferre brought logical thought while Jehan added rhetoric and romance to their conversations. They complimented each other even though their thoughts were sometimes so different. Perhaps that's how things should always be? If everyone thought the same, then the world would be a boring place. Everyone was entitled to their own opinion and view of life, after all.

For once, the idea of going to a meeting made Jehan feel a little sad. He just wanted to enjoy these last few moments with Combeferre by the fire. But his other friends needed him. So, Jehan stood up, stretched, and grabbed his coat. "Then we should get going," he said, "We don't want to be late for our last meeting."

Thankfully, they were on-time, as was everyone else. There were many more people there besides the students. Citizens of every class gathered at the Musain, giving up silver and other metals to melt down for bullets. Many also brought pieces of furniture to use at the barricade. Others brought flags, food, and other necessities for their revolution. Jehan swam through the sea of people up to the top of the Café. "Enjolras, this is amazing!" he exclaimed, looking out the window at all of the people assembled.

….

Combeferre put his coat on, following Jehan out the door to the meeting. Their last meeting. That thought felt so final to Combeferre. Soon, they would have succeeded in their purpose or died trying. Either way, it truly was the last. The Café was more crowded than Combeferre had ever seen it. People from all over Paris had come to help prepare for the revolution. Combeferre felt himself smiling as he and Jehan climbed to the second floor of the Musain. This floor was the same as ever.

All the Amis were there, preparing for the fight of their lives. Combeferre looked around at his friends, the men he had come to know. Who he considered his family. They were working together as a flawless machine. All their planning finally coming together. Combeferre could feel the vibrant energy flow through the room as he joined in with the preparations. Courfeyrac came up the stairs with some guns, several others following him with more.

Everyone made sure to get armed so they were prepared for the funeral. Combeferre grabbed two pistols. Leaving the larger guns for the others and for when the barricade was built. He looked at the guns. They felt odd in his hands. Combeferre had always known he would have to fight, yet by nature he wasn't a violent man. But this was needed for the revolution. For France. For the people. He looked out the window, at the crowd gathered in the street. These were the people they were fighting for. Those who had no one else. At that moment, Combeferre had never been surer of anything.

…

Jehan was quickly caught up in planning and preparing with the others. He took a quick count of all the guns, amazed by the amount Courfeyrac was able to get. Feuilly was hard at work melting down the steel into bullets, working quickly but meticulously to get their shape right. Everyone, even Grantaire, was hard at work. Amongst it all, Enjolras moved between each person, giving words of advice and praise. It helped keep their spirits up. Everyone believed they could accomplish this; that they could win. Jehan believed it too.

They had to win; they came to far to just lose. They had planned and prepared so much, and now it seemed that all the people of Paris would be at their backs. With that much support and that much hope, how could they lose? The possibility was still there, and it would be foolish to ignore it, but Jehan wouldn't allow himself to dwell on that unhappy thought for too long. He needed to focus on the positive. He was the optimist of the group, if he lost hope then everyone would follow soon after. He knew he needed to stay strong for everyone.

While he was checking some of the guns, Enjolras came up beside him. The quiet way in which the leader approached him told Jehan that Enjolras was about to tell him something he probably wouldn't like to hear. Still, Jehan steeled himself and looked expectingly to Enjolras.

"Jehan… You know how important tomorrow is, oui?" he asked. Jehan nodded slowly, not quite seeing where Enjolras was going with this. "Well, seeing as how we need to make a good impression on the people, it would be best to physically appear… Professional; to look as if we truly mean to revolt."

Jehan cocked his head and narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Right…?" he sort of agreed, really confused as to why Enjolras was bringing this up now. At that point, Grantaire sauntered over, pushing past Enjolras and picking at a corner of Jehan's very flowery vest.

"What our marble leader is trying to say is, that you should try and dress like the rest of us," the cynic explained, "We don't need everyone thinking we're just going to throw flowers at the guards." Enjolras shot him a glare and pushed him away. Jehan sighed softly, understanding clearly now; they didn't want their revolution to look like some form of child's-play. He unconsciously fiddled with the end of his vest.

Enjolras clapped him on the shoulder, smiling gently. "Just try and wear something patriotic; something that will show the people and the guards that we mean business," he quietly urged before leaving the poet to himself. Jehan sighed again. Did he even own anything remotely professional-looking? Well, there was that blue vest…

…..

Combeferre was standing nearby when Enjolras went up to Jehan. He caught on to what Enjolras was saying a lot more quickly than Jehan did. Combeferre cringed a bit for his friend. It was true that Jehan dressed a little bit odd compared to others, but what did that really matter to the revolution? Combeferre could tell that Enjolras was trying to be polite about it, but Grantaire sauntered up and was just plain rude. As Grantaire walked past Combeferre he reached out and grabbed the cynic by his arm.

"That was uncalled for Grantaire," Combeferre said, upset with his friend, "You of all people have no right to criticize another's attire, let alone be that rude about it."

Grantaire pulled away from Combeferre, looking a little surprised at the confrontation. "Just helping things along," he said, brushing it off as he started to walk away, "Relax Combeferre!"

Combeferre watched as Grantaire walked away, shaking his head at his attitude. He turned and saw Jehan lost in thought. Combeferre walked over to Jehan and put his hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry about it mon ami," Combeferre said, "The way you dress is fine. Enjolras just wants everything tomorrow to be perfect in his eyes."

It was getting late and the café was emptying out. The only people left were Enjolras, a thoroughly miserable looking Marius, Courfeyrac, Joly and Bossuet on their way out the door, and Combeferre and Jehan. Combeferre decided it was time to leave as well. "Get some rest," he said to Jehan, "Big day tomorrow." With that, he nodded at Enjolras and headed down the stairs.

…..

Jehan looked up as Combeferre approached. He smiled softly at his friend's words, though inwardly cringing. Enjolras wanted everything to be perfect, so the poet's attire wasn't perfect, was it? He sighed softly and just nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He went about the rest of the meeting, trying not to take Grantaire's words to heart. Though, when he thought about it, the drunk was really just trying to help Enjolras. He wasn't intentionally being rude, he was being upfront when Enjolras wouldn't. That made the poet see Grantaire in a different light. Out of all of the men here, Jehan doubted any of them would jump to give their lives for Enjolras faster than Grantaire.

He made it a point to work with Grantaire through the rest of the meeting so that the man would know he harbored no hard feelings. As the meeting dragged on, he and Grantaire shared a few jokes and laughs. By the end, things between them were settled. Jehan also made it a point to give each of his friends a parting hug before they left, saying words of encouragement. Things would change tomorrow, and Jehan wanted each of them to know how much he cared for them.

Before Combeferre could get too far down the stairs, Jehan came up behind him and trapped him in a hug. "Take care, mon frère," he whispered. He would have said more, but at that point, his throat closed up and his bottom lip trembled. As much as he tried to help it, images of the bullet-ridden corpses of his friends filled his mind. The most notable and frightening image was that of a dying, bloody Combeferre. If only those four simple words could convey exactly what he felt…

Watching from the corner, Grantaire didn't have to see Jehan's face to know what he was thinking. He found himself staring at Enjolras with that same amount of fear and love. As usual, the ever-oblivious leader didn't notice. Sighing, Grantaire took a long drink of absinthe.

…..

Combeferre didn't know what to say when Jehan came up and hugged him on the stairs. It caught him by surprise and before he could formulate a reply his friend had run off. Combeferre had so many emotions churning through him. He walked home in a daze, not even paying attention to his surroundings. He found himself lying in his bed for hours trying to sort through it all. There was every possibility many, or all, of them would not survive the next days. Combeferre knew he would be unable to bear seeing any of his brothers fall.

And Jehan. Sweet, lovable Jehan. Who was always himself and took everything to heart, never wanting to offend. Who, for some inexplicable reason, considered Combeferre a brother. Combeferre didn't think he could ever understand why. He was just glad Jehan did. But to think of losing Jehan would be unbearable. For Jehan was a bright spot in the world. Combeferre knew he would do all he could to protect him, and all of the Amis, but would it be enough.

Combeferre finally fell asleep with those thoughts in his head, and slept fitfully. He awoke early, climbing out of bed to go pull out some clothes. They were rather new. But why save new clothes when there was no guarantee he would survive the day. He pulled on the vest and coat, tied his neck tie, put on his hat, tucked his pistols into his inside jacket pockets, and headed out to the Musain to meet the others. Combeferre was ready to help usher in civilization to France.

….

Jehan returned to the others and sat down beside Marius. He started talking to the young man, hoping that would distract him from his morose thoughts. It turned out that Cosette –Marius' love-interest- was gone. She and her father just disappeared without a word. Marius was heart-broken, but that didn't seem to be stopping him from fighting in the revolution. Jehan admired his determination in spite of his troubles. He tried to offer some kind of advice, but even Jehan was at a loss as to what to do.

In the end, he ended up walking home with Marius; just giving him some silent comfort. It was good for the poet too. Having someone with him kept his thoughts from straying down dark paths. However, Marius soon left his side once they reached the flat. Jehan bade him a goodnight before heading inside. He thought about moving the mattress back onto the bedframe, but the warmth of the fire was too comforting to ignore. So, Prouvaire settled down with a blanket and his favorite poetry book. He tried reading, but soon the words of the poems reflected the fear in his heart. Jehan put the book aside and sighed, laying back.

He didn't want any of his friends to die, but he also knew anything could happen. He knew he would sacrifice anything to see a new France, but would he sacrifice his friends? The answer was a resounding no. But could he help that? Some of them would fall, and Jehan didn't want anyone to. But if they did… Then he would fight in their name. If any of his friends fell, then it was all the more reason to keep on fighting in their memory. If anyone died, they would not die in vain. Thinking that way calmed Jehan enough that he could read again. Eventually, the warmth of the fire and the warmth of the words lulled Prouvaire to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Co-written with the-intrepid-poet on tumblr!  
> A slight twist on the classic tale, told from the perspectives of Jean Prouvaire and Combeferre as they struggle through the Revolution and it's aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ellipses indicate which section was written by whom. Jehan's perspective was written by the-intrepid-poet and I wrote the Combeferre sections

He woke up with the book still in his hand. Chuckling to himself, Jehan gently put the book away and started to get dressed. He found himself thinking, What would Combeferre wear? That in mind, Jehan pulled on a plain, white shirt, a nice blue vest, and a red neck-tie. That had to be patriotic enough. And the neck-tie had a bit of a flowery design to it, but it was small enough to escape notice. He tucked a pistol into his back pocket for later. Satisfied, Jehan headed out the door and down to the Musain.

Once he was inside and looking around, his eyes settled on Combeferre. He started to call a greeting, but ended up bursting into laughter. They matched!

…..

Combeferre was standing in the Musain talking with Enjolras. They were going over the plan again, which both of them could recite in their sleep by that point. Enjolras was to give the signal by interrupting the procession and waving the red flag. Everyone else had a specific point they would go to. Combeferre would be in front, grabbing the horses and encouraging others to join their march.

Soon more of the Amis were entering the room. Combeferre looked up as Jehan entered and busted into laughter. For a moment Combeferre was confused. Then he realized what Jehan was wearing and felt a blush forming. Out of all the clothes Jehan picked that morning he had to pick ones that looked nearly identical to Combeferre's. It was then that Courfeyrac decided to notice as well and started laughing.

"Well look at that!" he called out, "'Ferre and Jehan decided to match for today. How cute you two." Courfeyrac had thrown his arm around Combeferre's shoulder, who shrugged it off while pretending to be irritated at him.

Feuilly decided to take pity on Combeferre and jumped in at that moment. "I came up with another idea to show us unified," the fan maker said, pulling up a sack he had, "I made these tricolor waistbands you can tie around your waist, very patriotic, and really adds something." He started pulling them out and handing them around. Combeferre tied his on with thanks to Feuilly. He looked around at all his brothers tying theirs on. At that moment, they truly looked like they would pull off everything they wanted.

…

Jehan's laughter died down a bit as he blushed at Courfeyrac's comment. They hadn't planned to match! Still, it was kind of nice that fate let them have this one moment. Thankfully Feuilly took the spotlight away from the two of them when he began passing out his sashes. Jehan was still amazed at what that man could do with his hands! He tied the sash around his waist, making sure it wasn't too loose or that it kept his gun out of reach.

Looking around at everyone with their matching sashes and rosettes, Jehan took a deep breath. This was it. They were really going to change everything or die trying. There was no middle-ground here; they would win or lose. There was no turning back from this now. Jehan wouldn't abandon the cause no matter what was asked of him. He would protect the people of France and he would protect his brothers.

Jehan went over the plan once more. Enjolras would give the signal and he would move into position on the carriage. He would be on the left side, facing the crowd and urging them to join with them. He would also keep an eye out for incoming guards. When they showed up, he would call Enjolras, and they would all make their way to the barricades. From there, they would hold out at the Café until the guards surrendered.

When everyone was ready, Enjolras gave the word and they moved out in a group. Naturally, Jehan walked beside Combeferre, taking strength from his friend and trying to give some in return. He was more nervous than he would let on, and scared, but he knew this was the right thing to do. "Whatever happens," he found himself muttering to Combeferre as they reached the area, "Keep fighting. It's been an honor, mon frère." Jehan just felt he had to say that before everything came to a head.

…..

Combeferre smiled when Jehan walked beside him on their way to the funeral. He frowned at Jehan's words. It sounded as if his friend had already doomed himself to die. "I never intended to," Combeferre said, "But Jehan, there is every chance we could come out of this. Don't give up hope yet mon frère." Combeferre would have said more but they had reached the street and began to split up. Combeferre was a few people from Jehan.

They could hear the funeral procession in the distance, heading steadily towards them. The combination of the sounds of horses, carts, marching feet, and the drums made quite an intimidating sound, but it couldn't faze Combeferre. He was ready for it. Willing to give all he could for their cause. Soon, the funeral was passing right in front of them and he kept a close eye on Enjolras, waiting for the signal. Enjolras jumped into the center of the street. His blonde hair caught the sun and the sight of his red jacket combined with the waving of the red flag made a true sight.

The Amis leapt into action. Combeferre ran up to the horses of the carriage carrying Lamarque's casket and grabbed hold of the reins, guiding the horses at his own pace. Together, the students created one voice, calling for the people of Paris to stand up and take their chance. At that moment, they were on top of the world. Combeferre looked ahead and saw the soldiers preparing to fire. The procession halted, and the two parties stared at each other in silence. A shot rang out from Combeferre's right, and he flinched instinctively. But it wasn't he who was pierced by the bullet. An innocent women, in the wrong place at the wrong time, fell to the ground. Combeferre ran to her side, running through the steps he would need to take, but it was too late.

"Murderers!" he called, turning to face the guards. The whole scene exploded into chaos then. The crowd became angry and surged forward. Combeferre heard Enjolras shout "to the barricades!" and he took off running towards the Musain.

….

Jehan just smiled softly at Combeferre's confidence. It wasn't that he was afraid he wouldn't make it; he was afraid of what would happen to the others if he did happen to die. He didn't want them to give up or lose their confidence if he fell. He would have said so to Combeferre, but then the action began. It was pretty much impossible to miss Enjolras running out into the street as bright as he was. Jehan jumped into action, quickly climbing on the carriage. He called to the people, urging them to stand up for themselves; to refuse to be slaves again.

Then the guards came. He called to Enjolras, and their two groups came to a stand-still. The shot made everyone jump. Jehan looked around to see who fell, and was shocked to see that a woman in the crowd lay still on the street. Combeferre's declaration made the poet's heart drop. The first to fall in this revolution was an innocent woman. Then all fell into chaos. People, guards, students and horses all rushed about in a mad craze. Jehan jumped off the carriage and headed to the Musain, picking people up and urging them on as he went.

He got to the Musain just as some of the others were beginning to build the barricade. He joined in, helping Bahorel, Courfeyrac, and Joly push over a cart. Everything happened so quickly with everyone rushing to and fro. Volunteers spilled from the streets, offering their aid and building their barricade. By the time everyone was at the Café, the barricade was nearly complete. With everyone working, it was completely constructed in a matter of minutes. They stepped back a moment to survey their work. It was a random assortment of all kinds of furniture –even a broken piano- but it was sturdy. It would hold.

Enjolras stood in front of them, taking the red flag Madame had sewn and mounting it at the top. "We need someone to go out and find out their plan and when they will attack," he called, looking to each person.

One man that Jehan never met stepped forward. "I can find out their plans. I've fought their wars before when I was younger," he offered. Enjolras nodded his approval. Courfeyrac handed the man a gun and he quickly ran from the barricade.

Jehan sighed softly. For now, it seemed that there wouldn't be an attack. Still, they had to be ready for whatever would come at them. He spotted Combeferre and moved to join him. "We'll have the people united in no time," he grinned.

…

Combeferre rushed into action helping to build the barricade. He could hear Courfeyrac calling for furniture as he and Bossuet worked together to add a cabinet to the barricade. Enjolras called for a volunteer to spy on the guards and an older man volunteered. Combeferre thought he looked slightly familiar but couldn't place it. Soon, the barricade was complete and there was nothing left to do but wait. Combeferre passed the time by pacing, watching the street on the other side of the barricade, and sitting next to Jehan.

As he sat there, he looked over at his friend. "Jehan, I," Combeferre paused, "I just thought I should let you know that you have been the greatest friend. And I," he cleared his throat, "I love you Jehan. You're like a brother to me. I just needed to tell you. Just in case I don't make it."

He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes, trying to hold back the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him.

…..

Jehan looked sideways at Combeferre as he began to speak. He felt a hard lump form in his throat as his last phrase rang in his mind. No, no Jehan refused to imagine that. Swallowing back his emotions for once, Jehan slowly reached over and grabbed Ferre's hand. He gave it the gentlest of squeezes, staring hard at his brother.

"I… I love you as well, Combeferre, mon frère," he finally managed to say, "You're the best brother anyone could ask for, and I'm proud to call you that. But you will make it. We'll both make it and keep causing all sorts of trouble." Jehan smiled, and despite his previous attempts and control, his tears poured out, but they were tears of sadness and of joy.

Then, just as one last show of affection before anything else happened, Jehan laid his head on Ferre's shoulder, sighing softly as he did so. The tears still came, but Jehan kept himself from sobbing. He had to be strong now, for Ferre and for everyone else.

…

Combeferre sniffled as Jehan grabbed his hand, covering his eyes with the other one. At Jehan's words the tears he had been fighting began to fall. He hoped with all hope that Jehan would make it. If he didn't, Combeferre certainly wouldn't. Jehan leaned his head on Combeferre's shoulder and he leaned into it, taking comfort and strength from his presence. They were soon jarred from the moment by the lookout announcing someone approaching.

Combeferre got to his feet, putting his glasses back on his nose, and climbed the barricade, raising one of his pistols. It was the volunteer, back from his reporting. They let him through and he began to give his report. If the soldiers thought making the students wait would make their fight easier they were sorely mistaken.

"Liar!" Gavroche called out, announcing that their volunteer was a police inspector named Javert. Combeferre recognized him now.

Enjolras told them to tie him up when he tried to escape. Combeferre reached for him but was pushed away. He watched as Javert punched Enjolras before he was finally subdued. They tied him up the stairway. They all stood there staring at him when Combeferre heard the marching.

….

Jehan jumped up, trying to help get the inspector tied up. However, the man was strong, and it took a hard hit from Enjolras to knock him out. He sighed in relief when they finally had Javert tied up. But his relief didn't last for long. The guards were coming. Enjolras quickly called them to order. Everyone moved to a good vantage point. Jehan was separated from Combeferre, but he could still see his friend. The musket felt odd in his hands, but he would use it to defend his friends as long as possible.

"Who's there?" an officer called.

There was a silence. Then Enjolras called back, "French Revolution!" Then the firing began. Jehan was grateful for the sudden burst of adrenaline, else he probably wouldn't have hit anything. The soldiers fell left and right, obviously having underestimated the school boys. Jehan took out a few, wincing with each hit, though he pushed those thoughts away. He had to stay focused; his friends were in danger.

Then the momentum of the fight changed. The soldiers drew closer and closer to the barricade. Soon, they were climbing. Jehan heard a yelp to his right. A younger boy –one of the volunteers- was struggling to push back an officer. Without thinking, Jehan moved to his aid. With his musket, he pushed the soldier back, and with his free hand, he shoved the boy away. But he had underestimated the soldier's strength and resilience. Before Jehan knew it, the soldier grabbed both of his arms and heaved him over the other side of the barricade. Jehan came crashing down to the street below, smacking his head against the pavement.

In his daze, Jehan felt himself being dragged away and thrown against a wall of some sort. His hands were bound. He thought he heard Marius shouting something about blowing the barricade. But it was all a blur to Jehan, who was fighting away the shadows of unconsciousness. Somehow, he knew he had to stay awake.

…

Combeferre quickly climbed to the top of the barricade at Enjolras' call to arms. He pulled out his pistols and stood ready. He heard the soldier call out, and Enjolras' reply of "French Revolution!" Then the first bullets flew. Soldiers were falling left and right. Combeferre hated to do it, but it was what was needed for change. The tide started to turn and Combeferre felt himself getting slowly pushed down the barricade trying to stay out from in front of the muzzles of the soldier's guns.

He heard one of the boys cry out and saw Jehan going to his aid. He turned to battle away another soldier, ramming him in the face with the butt of one of his pistols. Combeferre backed up more, avoiding the soldiers that kept appearing. Then Marius was there, holding the barrel of gun powder and a torch, threatening to blow the barricade. Combeferre froze, seeing how utterly serious Marius was. The soldiers backed off, and Enjolras took the torch from Marius. They all backed down from the barricade.

Combeferre felt a surge of anger. "What were you thinking Marius?" he called, "You could've gotten us all killed!"

Marius didn't even seem to hear him, he was staring at something at the bottom of the barricade. Combeferre looked, and saw Eponine lying there, wounded. He could tell that it was too late to save her. Marius went to her, and the boys watched as he held her as she died. Combeferre looked at Enjolras, who nodded. Combeferre went and took Eponine, laying her limp body inside the Café. This strong, brave girl, who had stood up to a gang for Jehan and he, was now dead.

Combeferre looked for Jehan then, assuming he would be nearby. But he couldn't see the poet anywhere, and felt an icy fear growing in his stomach. Had Jehan fallen and he hadn't seen? Was he too perhaps lying injured somewhere? Combeferre began searching but didn't find him and went to Enjolras.

"Enjolras," he began, "I think they have Jehan. I don't see him anywhere."

Enjolras looked around as though to confirm what Combeferre had just said.

"We have Javert," Combeferre continued, "Let us trade him. Perhaps they will make it. An inspector for a rebel. What do they care?"

Enjolras nodded and was about to say his plan when a scuffle occurred on the other side of the barricade. Combeferre heard Jehan's voice cry out, a gunshot, and silence.

….

As Jehan's head cleared, his thoughts became less muddled. He had been captured and taken away from the barricade. He could still see it and was maybe fifteen feet from it. The soldiers around him were too busy tending to their wounded and preparing for the next round to pay him any mind. Jehan squirmed a bit, trying to get out of his bonds. Whoever tied them must've been in a hurry; the knots were extremely loose. In a few seconds, Jehan's hands were free, but he didn't move them from behind his back yet.

What should he do? Did he stay here and try and figure out the enemies' true plan then go back? It would give them the upper hand in this fight. But then, Jehan began to wonder what the others would do once they figured out he was taken. What would Combeferre do? Most likely, they would try and trade the Inspector for him. They'd come under some flag of truce. Looking at the grim faces of the soldiers, Jehan doubted they would honor that peace. Whoever came would be shot dead.

No, Jehan wouldn't allow that. His life didn't matter in the face of his friends' lives. What could a poet really accomplish in this revolution anyway? Better to have a philosopher, a leader, or a doctor than Jean Prouvaire. He couldn't let any of them die for him. Despite the gravity of the situation, there was a soft smile on Jehan's face as he accepted his fate. Even as he jumped to his feet, shoved soldiers away, and ran for the barricade, he knew he wouldn't make it. But he hoped that the others would keep fighting. That their resolve wouldn't dwindle. They would make a free France, and he would watch happily from above.

"Vive la France! Vive la Republique!" Jean Prouvaire shouted his last words at the top of his lungs. He bellowed them with pride as he kept his eyes fixed on the red flag. A shot rang out. His right shoulder exploded with pain. Then all went black as the pavement rose to meet him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Co-written with the-intrepid-poet on tumblr!  
> A slight twist on the classic tale, told from the perspectives of Jean Prouvaire and Combeferre as they struggle through the Revolution and it's aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ellipses indicate which section was written by whom. Jehan's perspective was written by the-intrepid-poet and I wrote the Combeferre sections

Combeferre felt the gunshot pierce straight to his heart. "They've shot him!" he cried, running towards the barricade. He didn't know what he was going to do, he just had to do something. He couldn't just leave Jehan all alone out there. As he started to climb over, Enjolras and Courfeyrac grabbed him by the arms and pulled him back.

"No! No!" Combeferre cried, trying desperately to break free, "I've got to get him! I can still save him! No! JEHAN!"

"He's gone, Combeferre!" Enjolras said, his voice cracking a bit at the word gone, "Please, Combeferre there's nothing you can do."

Combeferre stopped struggling, reality beginning to sink in. He pushed away and reeled against the wall of the café. A flash of red by his foot caught his eye and he picked it up. It was a red chrysanthemum, one of the ones Jehan had planted in the window. They had fallen in all the chaos. Combeferre cradled the flower in his palm and went and sat curled up on the barricade. He didn't even notice as the tears began to fall. Jehan, sweet, brave, kind Jehan, had died alone. Combeferre had sworn to protect him, and had failed in that duty. Combeferre had failed his brother when it mattered most.

Time passed, how much Combeferre didn't know. The lookout announced someone approaching. It was an old man, wearing an army uniform, announcing that he had come as a volunteer. Combeferre didn't trust him. One volunteer had already turned into a spy. They were discussing it when he pointed out soldiers on the roof, and the students fought them off.

Enjolras turned to the man. "Thank you, sir. Tell me how I can repay you, if it is my power."

"Give me the spy Javert," he said, "I'll take care of him for you."

Enjolras thought for a moment before nodding, and handing the man a knife while Gavroche gave him a pistol. He went into the Café and grabbed Javert, going out the back.

"Enjolras, no," Combeferre said, "That's murder."

Enjolras merely looked at Combeferre, resignation in his eyes. Combeferre stared hard at the back door. There was silence for a minute, then a gunshot rang out and the old man reappeared. Combeferre went back and sat on the barricade with the other Amis. There wouldn't be another attack until dawn they were sure. There was nothing to do but wait. Grantaire started up a drinking song as they passed around a bottle, but it soon died into silence and Grantaire disappeared into the café.

Combeferre curled up, pulling the flower out of his pocket, and tried to get some sleep.

…..

He honestly hadn't expected heaven to be so black, so cold. But what else could it be? He was dead. He could hear something in the distance. Was that… Singing? As hard as he tried to, he couldn't recognize the song even though it seemed so familiar. The voices singing sounded familiar as well, but he couldn't quite place them. Something screamed that he should, but he just couldn't. The effort was draining and he slipped away again.

Morning came slowly for everyone. The events of last night caught up with everyone and the mood was dampened. They had lost one of their dearest friends. The worst part of it all was that he had died alone. But despite the sadness of his passing, it strengthened their resolve to keep up this fight. They weren't just fighting for France anymore; they were fighting for one very intrepid poet.

Enjolras slowly moved to Combeferre's sleeping form. He knew Jehan's loss was extremely hard on the man. But he also knew they needed to keep fighting. Gently, he shook his second's shoulder. "Combeferre, wake up. It's a new day."

…

Combeferre had only slept in fits and starts and was disoriented for a moment when Enjolras woke him up. He stood up, putting the flower in his pants pocket, and went to where Enjolras was standing, determined to be useful. Marius was talking to Enjolras when Combeferre got to them, explaining how the rain damaged the gun powder. Enjolras hardly seemed to listen. He turned to Combeferre as he walked up.

"We're the only barricade left," Enjolras said.

Though he hadn't said it loudly, everyone heard and came closer. Enjolras gathered his thoughts for a moment.

"If anyone wishes to leave, now is the time," he said, looking at them all, "no one will judge you."

No one moved.

"We're with you Enjolras," Combeferre said, "Until the end."

Everyone nodded, determination glowing in their eyes. Though they knew they couldn't possibly win now, they would fight to the last man. Combeferre saw movement at the corner of his eye. Gavroche was climbing through the barricade. Combeferre quickly climbed up, trying not to let Courfeyrac see. He reached the top and saw Gavroche going the bodies of soldiers, gathering their gunpowder.

"Gavroche," Combeferre hissed, trying to get the boy to come back, "Gavroche come back!"

Though Combeferre had kept quiet Courfeyrac noticed and tried to climb past Combeferre. He quickly held the other student back, knowing he would be shot if he went over. A gunshot rang out, passing right over Gavroche's head. The boy looked back, grinning at the panicked faces of Combeferre and Courfeyrac, confident in his abilities. Courfeyrac slipped out of Combeferre's grasp and ran to the side of the barricade, Combeferre right behind him. Another shot, a cry from Gavroche. The two students passed the barricade right when a third shot rang out, piercing Gavroche. They boy fell, and Combeferre knew with utter certainty he was dead.

Courfeyrac ran out and grabbed the boy's body, already starting to sob. They got Gavroche behind the barricade and laid him down on the ground. Combeferre held Courfeyrac as he sobbed over the young boy. Courfeyrac had treated Gavroche as a brother, and now he was gone. They had failed the boy. Combeferre held Courfeyrac as the old man who had shot Javert came forward and took Gavroche into the Café, laying him beside Eponine.

One of the officers on the other side of the barricade called out for them to surrender. Enjolras looked at them all, determination in his eyes, his gaze asking each and every one if they were ready. Courfeyrac took a steadying breath.

"Let's make them pay for every man," he said, looking at Combeferre, who saw his own grief mirrored in his friend's eyes.

They stood up, everyone springing into action. They grabbed their guns and mounted the barricade. There were soldiers lined up across the whole street. "Cannons!" the officer called, and they began rolling them in.

"Aim for those manning the cannons!" Combeferre called, knowing they would rip the barricade to pieces.

"Fire!" Enjolras called. They shot, taking down many of the men at the cannons. Those were quickly replaced and the students quickly reloaded, taking down a second batch. The soldiers began returning fire, and soon the cannons were ready. The first cannon shots rang out, knocking Combeferre to the ground as the barricade near him exploded. He felt shrapnel imbed itself in its arm, tearing his clothes.

The scene was chaos. The students were scattered, several fallen already. Combeferre saw Bahorel dead, shot while reaching for Feuilly. "Get in the Café!" Combeferre called, "Barricade the door!" The rest of the students started running. More shots rang out and Combeferre saw Bossuet fall, Joly running to his aid but it was too late. Combeferre quickly grabbed Joly, pulling him away.

"It's too late Joly!" Combeferre cried, desperate to get his friend inside. He grabbed Joly's hand and pulled him along. They began to barricade the door with what they could find and quickly ran up the stairs. Combeferre looked around. There were only three others, Courfeyrac, Joly, and Enjolras. They heard the soldiers burst into the Café, and all was quiet for a minute save for their frantic breathing. Combeferre felt Joly's hand on his shoulder, and he put out his arms, keeping his friends behind him. He locked eyes with Enjolras and then his world exploded in pain as the soldiers fired through the floor.

….

Enjolras flinched as the shots rang out from below. His lieutenants fell all around him. Although he hadn't been hit by a single bullet, the pain he felt at seeing his friends dead was worse than any physical wound. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen, and he felt solely responsible for it. He was supposed to be their leader. Enjolras didn't dwell on that for long; he'd be with them soon enough. The soldiers came up, blocking any exit, but Enjolras didn't mean to run. He stood his ground as the soldiers took aim.

His steely gaze never wavered until something moved in the corner of his eye. Grantaire weaved his way through the squad, looking straight into Enjolras' eyes. The leader's brows furrowed slightly, then alarm flashed in his eyes. Grantaire didn't need to be here; he could escape and live. But seeing the determination in the drunkard's eyes, Enjolras knew he meant to stay. Grantaire stood by his side and slowly clasped his hand. They took strength from each other as they stared down the squad. It was then that Enjolras recognized one of the officers, and he recognized him. They had grown up together on the same street. How ironic that they ended up on different sides. Enjolras slowly raised the red flag in his hand. As he did so, the squad fired. The force of the hits was so strong that it sent Enjolras' body out the window. Still grasping the flag, the chief hung limply out of the window while Grantaire's body crumbled inside.

The throbbing pain in his shoulder and the din of voices woke him. At first he was confused, why was he waking up? He should've been dead. And yet, Jehan slowly realized that he was still alive. In a lot of pain, but still alive. The voices belonged to two soldiers who were carrying the corpses of their brethren. Jehan watched them go around the corner then slowly stood up. The barricade was practically blown to bits. Jehan's heart fell into his stomach. No, no this wasn't right; this couldn't be happening! Dizzy from the blood-loss, he carefully and slowly climbed up the barricade. He bit his lip to keep himself from crying out whenever he put pressure on his right arm. He had to keep going, he had to find out what happened.

The sight that greeted him on the other side of the barricade nearly made Prouvaire faint. Everyone, everyone was dead. Bahorel, Feuilly, Bossuet, and all the volunteers were strewn about, bloody and lifeless. But the worst sight of all was Enjolras hanging out of the Café window. Jehan held back his sobs, knowing any sound would alert the soldiers. This was his nightmare come true. Everyone he had sworn to protect was dead. All of his friends were gone. He'd never see any of them again, never hear their laughter, never listen to their stories. They had died defending the barricade while he just laid down and slept through it all. He should've been here with them; he should've died with them! He should've been by Combeferre's side until the end!

But where was his brother? Jehan looked about but couldn't find him Courfeyrac, Joly, or Marius. Had they been upstairs with Enjolras when they died? Trembling with every step and with tears pouring down his face, Jehan climbed down the barricade and started to head into the Musain.

….

Combeferre knew he should be dead. He was lying on the upper floor of the Musain, lying between the bodies of Joly and Courfeyrac. But he was still alive. He knew it because of the pain he was in. He could feel at several points in his torso that he had been shot. He pulled in a shaky breath and tried to push himself up off the floor a little so he could look around. Enjolras was missing. Their leader had been nearby when Combeferre was shot but he wasn't in the room any longer. Instead Combeferre noticed Grantaire dead by the window. When had he shown up? Their drunk cynic, who had passed out for the battle, must have come at the last minute to die with the rest of them.

Yet Combeferre hadn't died. Not yet at least. He pulled in another shaky breath, feeling the pain radiate through his torso. He couldn't stay here. The soldiers would return and then he really would die. He had to at least try to escape, however little he truly wanted to. He owed it to his friends, his brothers, not to just give up. So he started to crawl. He felt sobs threaten to tear through him as he climbed over the body of Joly. Combeferre just wanted to quit right then, nearly overwhelmed by the pain and grief. But he kept crawling and somehow made it to the stairs.

Clawing at the wall for support he managed to shakily get to his feet and take a few steps. But the pain soon overwhelmed him and he started to fall. He landed heavily, his legs still on the stairs but his upper body sprawled on the upper landing. He choked back another sob. He couldn't do it. It was all too much and he felt the darkness threatening to reach up and drag him down. Already his vision was blurring and each breath was a struggle. Combeferre heard movement in the lower floor of the Café and knew that the soldiers were returning for them. He lay his head down, resigned to his fate. At least then he would be reunited with his friends, with Jehan.

….

Barely containing his sobs, Jehan walked through the bloody corpses of his friends and brothers. He slowly shuffled into the Musain and leaned against the back wall, shutting his eyes. Every breath he took was painful and he clutched at his bleeding shoulder. Even now he wished the bullet would have been more centered; that he had died then. He'd be with his friends now if that were the case. They'd most likely be sitting around and playing another one of Courfeyrac's drinking games. That is if heaven allowed drinking. That thought brought a small smile to Jehan's face. He opened his eyes…

And nearly swooned at what he saw. There was Combeferre, lying bloody on the stairs. Jehan could see his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. He was alive! Jehan's moment of elation died though when he took in just how wounded his brother was. Ignoring his own pain, the poet rushed to Combeferre's side. He ripped off his vest, putting it to the worst of the wounds to try and stem the blood-flow even a little. "Combeferre! Combeferre, it's me, Prouvaire. It's your Jehan. Please, mon frère, stay awake, alright? We have to get out of here; the soldiers will be back. Come on," the words poured out of Jehan in a rush, but somehow he managed to keep his voice level and calm.

Carefully, he lifted Combeferre to his feet and put one of his arms over his own shoulder. Jehan didn't care if it was his injured shoulder; he just needed to get Combeferre out of here. Slowly, and practically dragging his friend along, Jehan left the Musain through the back. As luck would have it, there were no soldiers about and a clear exit. Struggling with every step, but determined to see this through, Jehan moved through the quiet streets of Paris. He had to save Combeferre. He couldn't protect the others, but he had to at least save one of them. The fact that it was his best friend he was carrying just spurred Jehan onward. He refused to look back; only forward. As he walked, Jehan continued to talk to Combeferre, reminding him of all of the fun times that they had together. He talked and kept talking even when they reached his flat. Everything was still where he left it.

Jehan gently laid Combeferre down on the mattress, grimacing at all of the blood. He sent a quiet word of thanks to Joly, grateful that the doctor had shown him a few ways to treat wounds like this. The main thing was to get the blood to stop. Jehan tore his flat apart searching for anything he could use as bandages. He ended up ripping a lot of his clothes into strips, but if it could save Combeferre, he didn't care. He also washed Combeferre's wounds, checking for exit wounds and sighing in relief when he found them. Digging the bullets out would have been nearly impossible. Finally, Jehan had Combeferre bandaged up in probably the widest variety of bandages ever seen. He was glad to see that they didn't immediately turn red. Still, he made a mental note to change them in a few hours. Sighing softly, Jehan leaned back against the fireplace. As much as he wanted to just lay back and sleep, he couldn't bring himself to take his eyes off Combeferre. No, Jehan wouldn't rest until his friend was awake.

….

Combeferre was so close to giving in when he felt someone touch him. He instinctively jerked away, gasping in pain as he did, thinking that it was the soldiers come to finish him off. But the voice he heard calling his name was so familiar that he nearly passed out from the shock. Jehan was right there, pressing on Combeferre's chest to stem the bleeding from the bullets.

"J-Jehan?" Combeferre weakly breathed. Combeferre felt joy that Jehan had survived, but began to panic. What was he still doing here? He needed to get away from the barricade before the soldiers returned. He felt Jehan grab his arms, pulling him to his feet. He gasped in pain, feeling it flare from each wound and black spots appeared across his vision. Why didn't Jehan just leave him? Save himself and leave Combeferre to his fate.

But the poet continued to drag Combeferre along, almost completely supporting his weight. They went down the stairs and out the Café, every step sending another wave of pain through Combeferre's body. But he couldn't quit. Jehan was there, speaking to him the whole way. He listened as Jehan described good memories they had made, motivating him. He couldn't quit. Couldn't leave Jehan all alone. But Combeferre could feel himself growing weaker and barely registered that they were in Jehan's apartment.

Jehan lay him down on the mattress and Combeferre heard him rushing around and ripping clothes. The spots across his vision were growing larger and Combeferre knew he wouldn't be able to stay conscious much longer. He felt Jehan put pressure on one of the wounds, sending a fresh wave of pain, and then all went black.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Co-written with the-intrepid-poet on tumblr!  
> A slight twist on the classic tale, told from the perspectives of Jean Prouvaire and Combeferre as they struggle through the Revolution and it's aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ellipses indicate which section was written by whom. Jehan's perspective was written by the-intrepid-poet and I wrote the Combeferre sections

Jehan spent the rest of the day tending to his wounded friend. He tried to be as gentle as he could when washing and bandaging Combeferre's chest. He had all but forgotten his own wound. Jehan had a pile of used and unused bandages by the fireplace. The thought of going and buying some crossed his mind, but he didn't want to leave Combeferre for a second. All the while, the determined poet talked to his brother. Even if Combeferre couldn't hear him, Jehan just kept talking. It was as much for Combeferre as it was for himself. He had to keep himself sane somehow.

But as the daylight slowly darkened, Jehan felt his hope waver. He only paused in his work to light a few candles. He didn't have enough wood or time to tend to a fire. All of the emotions he had kept bottled up threatened to explode. Would Combeferre even make it? His wounds were so severe that Jehan wasn't sure. Even if he did, the two of them would be the only Les Amis De L'ABC left. Everyone else was gone; all of the friends they had sworn to protect or die protecting. Yet here they both were, alive and hiding away.

As he finished tying the newest bandage around Combeferre's chest, Jehan couldn't take it anymore. He bent over his brother, putting his face in his hands and just letting go of the emotional walls he had built up. The sobs he had held back for his friends came tenfold. All of the grief and guilt he felt at their deaths tore at his heart. But most of all, his fear for Combeferre –for being left alone in this world- rang out through his cries. However, it just reminded the poet that he couldn't give up on his brother. Jehan took in a shuddering breath then impulsively grabbed Combeferre's hand.

"Please, please Combeferre, wake up. Don't leave me alone, mon frère. Wake up," Jehan begged, giving his hand a tight squeeze.

…

Combeferre had been slowly awakening. The pain from his wounds had died down to a dull throb but Combeferre couldn't manage to open his eyes. It was more peaceful to just float in the blackness anyways, somewhere in between. If he woke up, he would have to deal with a world he didn't want to live in. Why not just give up? Stop fighting and peacefully slip away. Combeferre knew that there was something he should remember. He began trying when something interrupted his train of thought. Was that someone crying? Combeferre began trying again to break through the blackness, wondering who would be crying over him.

He slowly could feel the pressure of the blackness lessen. His eyes slowly opened. He wasn't in the Musain. He was in someone's house, lying on a mattress. The room was dark, lit only by a few candles and smelled of dirt, sweat, and blood. He felt someone grab his hand and remembered why he had fought so hard to wake up. He turned his head and saw Jehan sitting him next to him. Combeferre felt everything rush back to him. He had tried to crawl away in the Musian, but then Jehan had found him. Jehan, his brother, had miraculously survived.

Combeferre's throat was too dry to say anything so he just weakly squeezed Jehan's hand to show he was awake.

…

That squeeze was probably the most relieving thing Jehan ever felt in his life. His eyes snapped open and he stared down at Combeferre. He breathed out a sigh of relief, and smiled softly at his brother. Now he wasn't alone. They would make it through this whole mess together. A few more tears spilled out, but the poet was nearly out of tears to cry. Jehan wiped away the tears from his face, flinching slightly as the action tugged at his wound. Ignoring it, as he had been for the past few hours, Jehan stood and got Combeferre a glass of water. Gently, he sat Combeferre up and helped him drink. "Slowly mon frère, slowly," Jehan urged.

As glad as he was to see Combeferre awake and alive, Prouvaire's exhaustion and pain was catching up with him. He masked it, not wanting to worry Combeferre. He would deal with his wound in a minute. Once Combeferre was done drinking, Jehan slowly eased him back down onto the mattress. He sat back against the fireplace once more. Words couldn't express what he felt at that moment, so he just let the silence speak for itself.

…..

Combeferre could see that Jehan was hurt when his friend cringed as he moved his shoulder. The soldiers must have hit Jehan in the shoulder when they shot him, not fatal but enough to have knocked him down for the night. Combeferre could clearly see the blood on Jehan's shirt when he went to fetch water. Didn't Jehan know that infection could set in if he didn't get the bullet out and clean the wound? Combeferre was distracted from his thoughts when Jehan helped him set up, pain shooting up his torso, to drink some water. He couldn't stomach much, just enough to help his throat.

He lay back down, trying to get his breath back from the effort. He was weak, and that little movement had worn him down. He looked over as Jehan leaned back against the fireplace, looking the picture of utter exhaustion. His brother had rings under his eyes and was completely filthy, covered in a mixture of dirt and dried blood.

"You're hurt," Combeferre breathed, "Your shoulder. I can tell by the way you're moving. We need to do something about that or it could get infected."

…

Jehan just smiled weakly at his brother. Now that he allowed himself to think about it, his shoulder throbbed painfully. The dried blood stuck to his shirt and made it uncomfortable to move around in. "You aren't in any shape to do anything," he said firmly, "I couldn't reach around to clean it… And I didn't want to leave you alone." Though now he supposed, Combeferre would insist on him seeing a doctor. Jehan wasn't sure if he could make it all the way there without collapsing of exhaustion though.

He jumped when a knock sounded from the door. Who in the world would come to his flat now? Cautious, Jehan slowly stood and moved to the door. He peeked out the door, then threw it open when he recognized the figure outside. Musichetta gently hugged him then stepped inside. She smiled softly at Combeferre. "I saw the others… But you two weren't with them," she quietly explained, "Marius wasn't either. I thought I heard something about him being with his grandfather." Then she noticed Jehan's wound. "You're hurt!" At her insistence, Jehan laid down on his stomach while she cleaned up the dried blood.

Then the real pain began. Jehan's fingers practically gouged holes in the floor as Musichetta dug the bullet out of his shoulder. Once again, the poet found himself silently thanking Joly; this time for taking this girl in. Musichetta carefully cleaned the wound and dressed it. She said something about going to get food, but by that point, Jehan had passed out from the pain and from exhaustion.

…

Combeferre listened to Jehan list off his excuses, knowing that he couldn't help his friend in his state. But Jehan could at least go see a doctor. Combeferre knew at least one who would be able to help and not tell the police. He was about to say when a knock sounded on the door. He turned his head, his heart starting to pound. Who would be here? As far as anyone they knew would be concerned they were dead. He watched as Jehan went to the door, prepared to attempt to give some help. His panic turned to surprise when Musichetta walked through the door, giving Jehan a hug.

She smiled over at him, and Combeferre could see all the pain in her eyes despite her happiness at finding them. She had just lost the two men she loved. She quickly put Jehan in his place and started cleaning him up. Combeferre could see how much pain he was in as she dug the bullet from his shoulder but knew there was nothing he could do to help. It had to be done. When she finally got the bullet out Combeferre could see that Jehan was unconscious. He was slightly pleased at that, knowing that Jehan's body needed to recover. Musichetta came over to Combeferre and checked his bandages. She looked worn down and slightly lost without Joly and Bossuet.

"I'm sorry Musichetta," Combeferre said softly, "I- I tried."

Musichetta looked Combeferre in the eye. "Don't you ever apologize to me Combeferre," she said, all fire, "This was not your fault. We all knew what you boys were getting into. It was not your fault. Do you hear me? Not your fault."

Combeferre could hear the steel in her voice and looked away, still feeling guilty despite her words. She brushed his hair back from his forehead and sighed softly.

"Will you be okay while I'm gone? You two need some food and fresh bandages. I'll be back as soon as I can."

She waited until Combeferre had nodded and then stood up and went out the door. He felt his exhaustion catching back up with him and felt his eyes slip shut. He was asleep in seconds.

…

It was quite a few days before Jehan had the strength to walk around. His shoulder was stiff, but thankfully it was healing very well. Eventually he was able to go outside again, though he only stayed out for a few hours at the most. He never left Combeferre alone for too long. It was both for himself and for his brother. They'd almost lost each other. Jehan wasn't too keen on being without his brother for too long anymore. Jehan thought about going to the Musain, but knew that was a trip he couldn't make without Combeferre.

Musichetta checked on them frequently until they seemed like they could handle themselves. Jehan appreciated her help, knowing that her heart hurt just as much as theirs. She also kept the two of them from feeling too guilty about what happened. Even when she was gone, Jehan found that his heart wasn't so heavy with remorse. He and Combeferre would talk about what happened often. Jehan knew it was better for them to get everything of their chests. It helped the pain fade away…

On one of his afternoon outings, Jehan purchased a paper from a young lad on the corner of a street. He thumbed through it idly as he walked back to the flat. A headline on one of the back pages made Jehan stop in his tracks. "Marius Pontmercy to Wed Beautiful Bride." Marius was alive! Better yet, he had found Cosette and was getting married! The date and the location of the wedding was listed; at his grandfather's estate and in a few weeks' time. Practically running in his excitement, Jehan headed back to his flat.

He rushed inside and handed the paper to Combeferre. "Maris is getting married! He's alive, 'Ferre!" the poet exclaimed.

…

Combeferre didn't know what he would've done without Jehan or Musichetta. Without them, he would have spent all his time wallowing in the guilt he felt at surviving when all the others had perished. But Musichetta refused point blank to let him feel that and Jehan was always there to talk it over with him. The days were passing and they were all slowly healing. Musichetta stuck around quite often the first few days, making sure that they boys could handle everything.

Combeferre's recovery was a lot slower than Jehan's. While Jehan was moving about soon after Musichetta helped with his shoulder Combeferre still leaned heavily on Jehan to get across the flat when he had to use the restroom. But he was still healing. Combeferre did his best to mask any discomfort he felt, not wanting to put more stress on Jehan. He already refused to be gone from the apartment too long, not allowing Combeferre to be alone for too long. Of course that didn't bother Combeferre. After nearly losing Jehan he wasn't fond of being separated for too long.

One day Jehan had left to go on one of his walks and Combeferre was sitting on the mattress, leaning his back against the wall. He was dozing, as was his usual habit when Jehan was gone, when the door opening woke him up. Jehan came hurrying into the apartment waving a newspaper. The poet ran up to him and handed him the paper, exclaiming that Marius was alive. Combeferre took the paper, looking at the article Jehan was pointing at. It didn't say much, just that Marius was to be wed in a few weeks at a Monsieur Gillenormand's estate.

Combeferre soaked all that information in. Marius was alive! One of their friends had escaped! Combeferre couldn't remember what happened to Marius in the chaos. He had been right with them as they retreated to the Café and when Combeferre had looked again he had been gone. He looked up at Jehan.

"What are we going to do then? I'm assuming he lives with his grandfather, will you go see him?"

…

Jehan sat down beside his friend, sharing the mattress, easing down slowly so he wouldn't accidentally hurt Combeferre. "The wedding is in a few weeks. I thought… If you're well enough, we could both go and surprise him. He obviously doesn't know we're alive, else he would've come to visit sooner. I think it would be the best wedding gift we could give him," the poet suggested. He didn't want to go anywhere important without Combeferre. Yes, he wanted to see Marius, but he knew Combeferre would feel left out if he couldn't go. Jehan didn't want Marius to come visit them and then worry about them. He had a bride now, he needed to focus on her.

"I know he wanted us all to be there," Jehan added quietly, "But maybe the two of us will be enough?" He knew it would mean the world to Marius if they came to his wedding. It felt like just the thing they needed after their trials too. Weddings were about new beginnings and joy. Maybe that was why Marius made it so public? It would be a way for him and the city to recover from these past events.

…

Combeferre moved his legs to make room as Jehan eased down onto the mattress next to him. He listened as Jehan suggested his plan of waiting until the wedding to go see Marius. Combeferre chewed his lip thoughtfully. He could read Jehan's thoughts very easily, and knew the reasons he was suggesting the wait. He didn't want to go see Marius without Combeferre. He also knew that nothing he could say would change Jehan's mind. The only thing Combeferre could do to help was to get better. Which he was doing, at a frustratingly slow pace. He hated being so dependent on someone.

Combeferre brought his attention back to the topic at hand. "That's a great idea Jehan," he said softly, "But wouldn't you like to see Marius sooner? You don't have to wait on me. I don't want to hold anyone down. But if that's what you want, that's what we'll do. And I think it will mean a lot to Marius to have even just us two at his wedding."

Combeferre set the paper aside, feeling restless. "Now then," he said, "I need some fresh air. I can sit up now. Will you help me to that chair by the window?"

….

Jehan smiled softly and shook his head. "Combeferre, you aren't holding anyone down," he replied firmly. Yes, he wanted to see Marius, but it would be better if all three of them were reunited at once. Without another word on the subject, Jehan helped his friend get to the chair by the window. He opened it up, taking a deep breath of fresh, summer air. He wished there was more he could do to help Combeferre heal, but other than rest, Jehan didn't know what else would help.

The weeks went by faster than Jehan expected. He watched with growing hope as Combeferre healed. It wasn't long before the man could walk on his own. Of course, Jehan made sure his brother didn't push himself too hard. They took many short walks together, going as far as the house with the rose-bushes. Jehan was happy to see that the roses were still blooming. At least some things never changed. The more and more Jehan changed Combeferre's bandages, the more he noticed the wounds becoming nothing more than scars. His shoulder had all but healed. It was a little stiff occasionally, but the poet could use it to its full capacity.

The day of the wedding came. Beforehand, the two had gone out and bought nice tuxedos. They wanted to look their best for their friend's big day. Jehan had even scrapped up enough money to rent a coach to take them to Gillenormand's home. The two rode down the streets toward the estate. Jehan rung his hands in excitement, trying to picture the look on Marius' face when he and Combeferre came in.

"We'll finally get to see the girl that changed his whole world," Jehan chuckled to Combeferre.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Co-written with the-intrepid-poet on tumblr!  
> A slight twist on the classic tale, told from the perspectives of Jean Prouvaire and Combeferre as they struggle through the Revolution and it's aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ellipses indicate which section was written by whom. Jehan's perspective was written by the-intrepid-poet and I wrote the Combeferre sections

The weeks began to pass and Combeferre continued to get stronger. His wounds were steadily healing, though Combeferre knew there would always be scars. Jehan always made sure that he didn't push himself too far. It started out with him just walking around the apartment unaided but soon the two were taking short walks together. He smiled at the memories that always came with those walks, and especially when they stopped at the rose bush. He could still see the Joly's panic from the scratch Jehan sustained after falling into it. Though Combeferre knew there would always be a hole left behind by his friends, he found himself able to think of the good times with them more often.

Soon the day of the wedding was there and the two of them put on the tuxedo's they had bought and climbed into the carriage. Combeferre could tell that Jehan was excited and so was Combeferre. But he was also nervous. How would Marius react when he saw the two of them? Combeferre hoped they didn't ruin his entire wedding day. He smiled at Jehan mentioning Cosette.

"Remember the poem Grantaire made that night when we first heard about her?" Combeferre said with a smile. He could practically see Grantaire standing on the table reciting it for the room. The coach pulled up in front of the house and they stepped out.

"Invitation?" the doorman said, holding out his hand.

"Um," Combeferre said, glancing at Jehan. Why hadn't he thought of this? "Technically we aren't invited. But we're here for the groom."

"No invitation, no entry," the doorman stated, about to shoo them off.

….

Jehan laughed at the memories. "I didn't even know Grantaire could rhyme like that!" he exclaimed. The coach pulled up to the door and he stepped out with Combeferre. He felt himself go a little pale at the mention of an invitation. He had completely forgotten about that. But they had to see Marius! "Please, monsieur, we're friends of Marius," he tried to explain to the door man.

"You and all of Paris," the man snorted, continuing his shooing motions.

"But he thinks we're dead!" Jehan practically shouted in desperation. A few of the people around them stopped and stared. The doorman looked around nervously; he didn't want anything to go wrong today. He looked over the two boys closely. They seemed harmless, and the smaller one seemed genuine in what he said. The doorman also knew how many friends Marius lost on that tragic day. Maybe these two boys truly had survived. He doubted anyone would be so cruel as to play that kind of trick on anyone, especially on their wedding day.

With a soft sigh, the doorman stepped aside and gestured for the two to enter. "Then come inside. I'm sure we can find some extra seats for you both. I'm afraid Monsieur Pontmercy is busy at the moment, but I'm sure you can find him during the reception."

Jehan stepped inside, saying a quick thank you to the doorman. This was the first time he'd ever been inside this estate and he was blown away by how huge it was. There were many people here, but none of them seemed to recognize Jehan or Combeferre. It wasn't long before they were ushered inside the chapel. Although their seats were in the back, Jehan could see Marius standing at the altar. He smiled and blinked back tears. Other than looking incredibly nervous, Marius looked just like himself.

The music played and the church doors opened. Jehan couldn't help but gasp a bit at how beautiful Cosette looked. No wonder Marius had fallen so hard for her. The ceremony proceeded stunningly. It was everything Jehan hoped it would be; a new beginning to a new chapter in life. Marius and Cosette exchanged vows before the priest, and then shared one long, passionate kiss. Then the crowd followed them out into the foyer for the reception. Being in the back, Jehan and Combeferre would have to wait a bit before going outside. Prouvaire took a deep breath, suddenly very nervous about the whole thing.

….

Combeferre was quickly trying to think of some way to get in as Jehan mentioned being friends of Marius and shot down again. His eyes widened as Jehan practically shouted, surprised to see that kind of reaction. He was even more surprised when the doorman actually let them in then. Most of the people there seemed to be older, most likely invited by Marius' grandfather and not by either Marius or Cosette. They were seated in the far back but Combeferre could still see Marius. He looked his normal awkward self, extremely nervous but a dreamy look in his eyes.

Combeferre stared at Cosette as she walked in, completely understanding now why Marius had acted the way he had. She was one of the most beautiful women he had seen. The ceremony was simple and went quickly. Jehan and Combeferre followed the crowd as they moved for the reception. Combeferre could feel his nerves growing as they stood in line to get up to where Marius was. He wasn't sure how his friend would react and hoped they didn't ruin the entire day for him.

Soon they were close to where Marius and Cosette were standing, glowing with happiness. Marius turned his head as another person walked up and Combeferre could tell the exact moment that Marius saw them. His face paled and he completely ignored the man who had just reached him. Marius moved past Cosette heading right towards Combeferre and Jehan.

…

If Jehan was worried that Marius wouldn't receive them well, those thoughts flew away as Marius rushed up to the two of them and wrapped them both in a hug. The three of them just held each other for a moment as Marius cried tears of pure joy. He stepped back and looked both of them over, as if he couldn't get enough of them. "I thought you both were dead!" he exclaimed, though happiness was evident in his voice.

Jehan smiled, wiping away his own tears. "And we thought you were as well, until we saw the paper a few weeks ago. We would have come sooner but… Our injuries wouldn't let us," he explained, not singling Combeferre out, "It's good to see you again."

Marius was beaming from ear to ear by this point. "And it is good to see you both as well," he replied. Grabbing both of them, he pulled them forward a bit to where he left Cosette. "Cosette, my darling, this is Combeferre and Jean Prouvaire –or Jehan. They're two of my friends from the barricade," he introduced the two to his new, beautiful wife. Cosette looked between the three of them for a moment, then burst into a wide smile.

"It is a pleasure to meet both of you. Marius has spoken of you often," she said fondly.

Jehan took one of her slender hands in his and brought it to his lips. "Believe me, the pleasure is ours. And he spoke of you just as fondly," he replied.

…

Combeferre's uncertainty disappeared as Marius grabbed him and Jehan. He held onto Marius, feeling himself shake with all the emotion. Marius pulled away, tears on his cheeks, and Combeferre felt himself crying too despite the smile on his face. He nodded as Jehan explained why they hadn't come sooner. He then found himself facing Cosette, who beamed at them as Marius introduced them. He copied Jehan's action, kissing her hand.

"An honor to meet you at last Mademoiselle," he said.

"I need to everything!" Marius said, "How did you two escape?"

Combeferre was deciding where to start when an elderly gentleman came up to Marius.

"Marius!" he said, "You are neglecting your guests! Is that any way to behave at your wedding?"

Combeferre guessed that it was Marius' grandfather and his guess was confirmed by Marius.

"Ah well Grandfather this is Combeferre," Marius said, "And Jehan. Two friends of mine from the barricade. I had no idea they had survived and here they are!"

Marius' grandfather looked at him and Jehan and Combeferre could see the disapproval in his eyes. Combeferre knew that Marius and his grandfather had vastly different political views and it seemed he disapproved of Combeferre and Jehan as well.

"Nice to meet you," said the grandfather, dismissing them already, "but be that as it may Marius, you cannot neglect your guests."

Marius sighed, giving them an apologetic look. "Come back in two days' time," he said, "We can talk then. I wish we could do it now but Grandfather is right. I'm so sorry. But I am so glad to see you!"

Marius gave each of them another hug before disappearing into the crowd with Cosette. Combeferre could feel himself growing tired from all the excitement of the day but was elated from the reunion. He looked over at Jehan. "I think I understand why Marius avoided his grandfather."

…..

Although Jehan was taken aback by Marius' grandfather, he dismissed the critical look the old man shot him. Everyone had their own views and everyone had a right to them. Jehan didn't want to keep Marius and Cosette from their other guests either. He smiled and nodded at Marius' offer. "That sounds great. We'll see you then, Marius!" he agreed. Then he two of them moved back into the crowd. Jehan and Combeferre stepped to the side and out of the way.

"They don't seem to agree on a lot of things, but family is family I suppose," Jehan remarked. Standing there against the wall, he suddenly began feeling very tired again. He knew Combeferre was probably feeling the same way. They had seen Marius and Cosette, that was all they really needed to do today. Yes, they could stay a little longer, but Jehan knew Marius' grandfather would be watching them the whole time. The poet didn't want to put that kind of stress on their friend.

"Shall we head home?" he asked Combeferre.

….

Combeferre nodded, relieved that Jehan suggested they leave. He was tired and being watched by Marius' grandfather the whole time didn't appeal to him. They walked out and waited for their carriage, which Combeferre gratefully climbed into when it arrived. He leaned his head back, looking out the window as they drove. It was nearly full dark by the time they returned to the apartment. Combeferre quickly changed out of his nice clothes and lay back on the bed with a sigh. He mumbled a good night to Jehan and then rolled over and was asleep in minutes.

Combeferre dreamed he was back on the barricade. The soldiers were climbing over and all his friends were falling around him. But this time it was different. He could see Jehan, desperately trying to hold back a guard. Combeferre rushed to his aid but knew he would be too late. He watched as his brother fell, and made it just in time to hold him as the light left his eyes. Combeferre could feel the anguish tearing through him. He looked around, and saw he was the only one left. The soldiers advance towards him and he backed away, falling against the wall of the Café. They raised their guns to fire.

Combeferre awoke with a strangled cry and covered in sweat. His chest hurt from the remembered pain of that day. He sat up and wrapped his arms around himself, too many emotions running through him. He took in a shaky breath and wiped his eyes, hoping he hadn't woken Jehan.

…

Jehan was getting used to sleeping on the ground. Musichetta brought him an extra bed-roll a while ago, and while it didn't compare to a mattress, it worked for Jehan. He wanted Combeferre to be as comfortable as possible while he healed. The poet had just fallen asleep when he heard a cry in the night. It took him a moment to orient himself, and then he realized the cry had come from Combeferre. In an instant he was beside his brother, wrapping an arm around him. "It was just a nightmare," Jehan cooed, "It's alright. We're safe now. Everything's alright, mon frère."

It had been a long time since either of them had a nightmare like this. Maybe seeing Marius had brought up old memories? Jehan wasn't sure, but he knew he had to calm Combeferre down. They both had plenty of experience with nightmares, and with comforting one another after they happened. Jehan lost count of how many times he had woken in a cold sweat. But Combeferre had always been there to reassure him that everything was fine. Jehan did the same now, rubbing his brother's back in gentle strokes.

….

Combeferre jerked a little when he felt someone touch him, relaxing when he realized it was Jehan. He leaned into Jehan, seeking strength from his presence. Soon his breathing had steadied and he had calmed down. He leaned back, rubbing his hand over his face.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," Combeferre said, looking over at Jehan in the dark, "I just- I guess seeing Marius brought all the memories back up."

Combeferre shifted, about to just get up and go sit by the window, not ready to go to sleep for a while.

"You go back to sleep Jehan, don't worry about me," he said.

…..

Jehan stared at his friend for a long time. Just seeing Marius couldn't have made the nightmare that bad, could it? Was there more on his brother's mind? He didn't want to push Combeferre, but Jehan didn't want him to suffer this way anymore. What else could be troubling his dearest friend? Jehan thought for a moment, searching his own heart for what memories the wedding brought up. Images of his friends flashed through his mind. They were mostly happy memories. He remembered when he first met Enjolras; how the youth had impressed him with his leadership qualities. He remembered how Courfeyrac used to tease him about how long his hair was getting, but then turn around and braid it. He remembered Joly's constant worry over every little scratch he would get, and how Bossuet would try and calm the doctor down. He remembered all of the wonderful fans Feuilly made, and how Grantaire would tease him about it. He remembered Bahorel's laughter whenever someone made a joke, and how Gavroche was practically joined at the hip with the man. Jehan remembered them all fondly, but there was also a sadness there that he would never see them again.

He'd never see Grantaire stumble around in a stupor. He'd never hear Courfeyrac joke or Bahorel laugh. Joly would never be there to bandage even the smallest scratch. He'd never watch Feuilly make a fan or rant about Poland again. Bossuet would never joke with him about bad-luck. Enjolras would never compliment him on a pamphlet. So many things that could have been, but were lost to Jehan now.

The poet leaned into Combeferre, one of the only people he had left in this world. "I miss them too," he said softly, tears beginning to trickle down his face.

…..

Combeferre stopped when Jehan leaned into him, and felt the tears slowly start again at Jehan's simple statement. It echoed so much of what Combeferre was feeling. His friends had been the brightest spots in his life, and each of the memories he had of them would always be tainted with the grief and guilt he felt. Why had they died while he was forced to live without them? He thought of them all every single day, and each memory ended with wondering why they had to die. Together they had all made such a perfect group. All so different yet so perfectly suited for one another. Without them, Combeferre felt incomplete. But what about Jehan? Combeferre knew that he kept blocking his brother out, afraid that someday Jehan would tire of him and leave, and Combeferre would be worse than he had been before. But Jehan was right there, where he had always been.

"This dream was worse than the others. Different," Combeferre started, deciding to stop pushing Jehan away, "We were at the barricade, that was the same. The soldiers were closing in and everyone was falling. But usually I just relive it all. This time you were there," Combeferre paused, gathering his strength, "You were fighting off a guard, but you were losing. I went to help you but I was too late, and I- I held you as you died. I could see the exact moment that you were gone. And then I was alone. This time I didn't even have you."

Combeferre stopped, taking in a shaky breath. "And that was the worst part," he said, looking right at Jehan, "The fact that this time you wouldn't be there for me. I don't think I could bear it if you weren't here for me Jehan."

…..

Jehan quietly listened, keeping his surprise to himself. Usually Combeferre didn't share his dreams like this. What a dream it was. No wonder he was so shook up about it. He suddenly wondered if it would have ended like that if he hadn't been captured. Would Combeferre have watched him die just like that? He shuddered to think of it, very glad that it hadn't ended that way. His brother's next words only confirmed that. They confirmed his own feelings as well. He didn't know what he would be doing now if he didn't have Combeferre with him. To be all alone in this world… Jehan couldn't imagine it.

He swallowed at the lump forming in his throat and looked back at Combeferre. "Nor I," Jehan confessed with a crooked smile, "I don't know what would've become of me if you weren't here, mon frère. But I am here now; that's all that matters. I'll never leave either, unless you get tired of me and throw me out… Which you technically can't since it is my home." He chuckled softly, though a darker part of his mind wondered if that would happen. Would Combeferre grow tired of him and leave? As soon as he thought it, Jehan shook the thought away. This was his brother he was talking about, Combeferre would never leave him like that.

…..

Combeferre listened to Jehan, his brother as usual calming his nerves. Jehan had always known the right things to say and when to say them. He smiled at Jehan's joke, shaking away the thought of what would happen if Jehan did indeed grow tired of him. That brought Combeferre's mind to another subject.

"Speaking of homes Jehan," Combeferre started, wanting to phrase it so he didn't offend, "I know that you say it doesn't bother you having me here, but if it ever does I want you to say so. My apartment is still there and I can leave whenever you want me to."

Combeferre felt that that would offend Jehan and rushed to add, "Or even just give you back your bed. I don't want to be putting you out so much. I'm better than I was before, I can sleep on the roll Musichetta brought. I will heal just as well on the floor."

Combeferre blushed, not that Jehan could see it in the dark, feeling stupid for offering. He knew Jehan wouldn't say anything, being far too selfless, and didn't want to hurt Jehan's feelings just because he had trouble accepting things from others.

….

At first Jehan was a little taken aback. Was this Combeferre's way of saying that he wanted to leave? He had been here for a while, of course, but Jehan didn't mind. He wanted Combeferre to stay as long as he liked. But if Combeferre really was growing tired of him…

"I don't mind that you're here, Combeferre," Jehan began slowly and softly, "I really don't mind sleeping on the roll; it's not too bad. But… If you want to leave, you can…" he trailed of, hoping he didn't sound like he was kicking the man out now. It was Combeferre's decision to stay or leave, and Jehan didn't want his feelings to influence that decision.

"My home is open to you for however long you'd like to stay," Jehan added, trying to amend what he said before.

…

Combeferre listened to Jehan's response to what he said, a small smile on his face. They were always so unsure of themselves that they tried so hard not to offend the other. Whenever Combeferre caught them doing it he couldn't help feeling amused.

"We're doing it again you know," he said with a breathy laugh, "Trying to hard not to offend the other. You would think that after all this time we would figure it out that neither of us is ever bothered by the other."

Combeferre shook his head, remembering their conversation by the fire the day before the barricade. Repeating his words from then he said, "We are quite the pair. And mon frère, I would love to stay as long as you'll have me." Combeferre yawned then, finally beginning to relax.

…

Jehan chuckled at Combeferre's observation. It was true; they always tried so hard to keep the other happy. In reality, they just needed to be with one another to be happy; it didn't matter what they were doing. "Then stay as long as you like," he replied with finality. He stifled a yawn and started to move back to the bed roll. He paused though, considering how genuinely concerned Combeferre was about keeping the mattress all to himself. "If you want, we can switch between the mattress and the bed roll each night," the poet suggested. The compromise would probably appeal to his brother, and it worked for him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Co-written with the-intrepid-poet on tumblr!  
> A slight twist on the classic tale, told from the perspectives of Jean Prouvaire and Combeferre as they struggle through the Revolution and it's aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ellipses indicate which section was written by whom. Jehan's perspective was written by the-intrepid-poet and I wrote the Combeferre sections

That night, Jehan slept on the mattress for the first time in quite a few weeks. He'd almost forgotten how comfortable it was. He wasn't upset with Combeferre though. It was nice to know that his friend was as comfortable as he could be while he had been healing. Jehan woke refreshed and ready for the day. He slipped on some clothes and stared out the window for a while, thinking about last night. Maybe it was time to go pay a visit to a certain café? Once Combeferre was awake, the poet got out some bread for breakfast. While they ate, Jehan timidly approached the subject. "Combeferre, I've been thinking… Maybe it's time for us to go back to the Musain?" he asked quietly.

…

Combeferre was glad when Jehan suggested switching between the roll and the mattress. He didn't want his brother to be uncomfortable all the time just because he was too selfless for his own good. Combeferre quickly stood up.

"You take the mattress the rest of the night then," he said, moving over to the bed roll.

Combeferre lay down, shifting to get comfortable. It certainly didn't compare to a mattress but he wasn't going to complain. Jehan had sacrificed so much and it was time Combeferre did him a favor. Despite his new sleeping arrangement, Combeferre slept peacefully the rest of the night, relaxed after their talk. He woke up to the sound of Jehan moving around the apartment. He sat up and stretched, wincing a little as he pulled at the still healing muscles around his wounds. He dressed and then joined Jehan for breakfast, noticing that he looked nervous about something. Combeferre waited patiently, letting Jehan approach it at his own time.

He was a little surprised at Jehan's suggestion. Taken off guard, he looked away, gathering his thoughts. Combeferre knew that they would return eventually. They needed to heal and that would be a piece of it. The Musain had been such a huge part of their lives and they couldn't avoid it forever. Combeferre knew he had no excuses to avoid returning either. He was well enough to make the walk and they had no plans for the day. Yet Combeferre wished he had a reason. He was uneasy about confronting all those emotions. But he knew that they could never truly move on until they revisited the place that had once felt like a second home.

He took a steadying breath and looked back at Jehan. "You're right. It's time we went back."

…..

Jehan had to admit that he almost wished Combeferre had refused. He was afraid of what memories would surface if they returned to the place where it had all began. Although their talk last night had relieved more of his guilt, Jehan knew more would surface if they went back. Would there be anything to go back to? But the poet knew this trip was necessary for both of them. He knew neither of them were fully healed. Seeing the Musain again might give them the peace they needed. Still, it was with a heavy and nervous heart that Jehan walked out of the flat with Combeferre beside him. The path was all too familiar; he didn't even need to look where he was going. Jehan's feet knew the path and would lead him to where they needed to go. Before he knew it, they passed the garden with the rose-bushes. His steps became weighed down with worry, but he was still anxious to see the café once again.

They rounded a corner, and there it was. The Musain stood like some ancient reminder of what had transpired on the street. Even from a distance, Jehan could see the bullet-holes riddled in the walls. The glass was still broken in both windows. The café itself was empty, but the door had been blown off during the attack. No one seemed to notice. People walked by as if nothing had changed. Yet Jehan and Combeferre knew exactly what had transpired here.

Taking a deep breath, Jehan continued walking toward the building. However he paused a few feet from it, staring down at the pavement. He swallowed and took in a shaky breath, subconsciously clutching at the shoulder that had been wounded. "I was shot here…" he mumbled mostly to himself. Here he had fallen. Here he had laid the entire time while his friends died only a few feet away…

…

The closer they got to the Musain the more nervous Combeferre got. He wasn't ready, he wanted to take back his agreement to come. But he knew he needed to do it. He needed to heal, to move on. And returning to the Musian would be the only way Combeferre could seek that closure. They rounded the corner and Combeferre felt his heart constrict. The aging structure that was once so welcoming now looked forbidding. All the glass was gone from the windows, the walls were riddled with bullet holes, and the door had disappeared at some point. Looking at it, Combeferre felt that he had lost another friend on top of it all. He could still clearly see how it used to look, warm and welcoming, teeming with life. But no one walking past them seemed to share his thoughts. It was just another old, broken building to them.

Combeferre stopped when Jehan did, watching as his friend grabbed his shoulder, knowing that he was reliving it all. But Combeferre was drawn onwards. Slowly, he began to walk towards the Café. He could see it all. There Marius had held Eponine as she died, there was where Combeferre had held Courfeyrac as they grieved over Gavroche, there was where Bahorel, Feuilly, and Bossuet had all died. Combeferre paused, his breathing quickening as he approached the door. He placed his hand on the doorframe, thinking of all the times he had passed through it filled with hope. Now he felt nothing but sadness and dread.

He stepped through and entered the Musain. The inside was a mess, the floor covered in blood stains and scattered pieces of furniture. Combeferre turned and headed towards the stairs, his steps slow and heavy. He slowly began to climb the stairs, instinctively dragging his hand along the wall like he always had, despite Joly always warning him of the germs. He stopped a few stairs from the top, remembering how he had lay there, wounded and dying, giving up hope, and remembering how Jehan had appeared to save him. Combeferre continued to the top. There were bullet holes in the floor, as well as the stains from dried blood. The blood of him and his friends. He could still feel Joly's hand on his shoulder, hear Courfeyrac's panicked breathing, see Enjolras' eyes as they were about to die. Combeferre fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around himself, trying to fight back the panic he felt at being in that room.

…

For once, Jehan was completely focused on himself. He barely noticed when Combeferre continued on. He continued to hold his shoulder as he slowly walked forward. Here was where the barricade stood. Jehan vividly remembered climbing it, desperate to find out what happened to his friends. He stopped right where he had seen Enjolras hanging out of the window. He could still see where the bodies of his friends had been. Yet he could also see where Enjolras had stood to give them a speech, where they had captured that inspector, and where he and Combeferre had rested on each other's shoulders. Jehan's heart was filled with grief, pain, and fondness as he remembered the days behind the barricade.

Then he stepped inside the Musain, pausing in the doorframe to look around. It seemed such a different place; so cold and barren. Where hope had been forged, only death and pain lingered. Trembling, Jehan leaned against the same spot he had when he had been searching for his friends. Tears openly flowed as the poet realized nothing could ever be the same again. Their home away from home had changed so much, and the world had changed so much. Taking a deep breath, Jehan moved around the room. The tables and chairs remained, but they would be empty forever more. Blood stained the floors where so much life had been. Jehan moved to the back, finding one of the cabinets still standing. A shaky hand opened the doors and pulled out a bottle of wine. Absinthe wasn't it? Grantaire left a bottle behind. Jehan sighed softly, tucking the bottle under his arm.

He faced the stairs, staring up at the world that had been. How many times had he climbed these stairs? How many times had he tripped at the top out of excitement for the new day? Slowly, Jehan began ascending to the top floor. He paused only when he came to the steps where he had found Combeferre. A small smile crossed his face. It didn't remain long, however, as he came to the top floor. More empty chairs and empty tables greeted him. He could see bullet holes in the floor-boards and could guess how Joly and Courfeyrac died. At least it was a quick death. There was a bloodstain against the wall by the window. Who had died there? Jehan wondered.

Then his eyes settled on Combeferre. The poor man had seen what transpired up here. No doubt he had crawled over the bodies of his friends. Whatever pain Jehan felt for himself, it didn't compare to what he felt for his brother at that moment. At least he had been spared the sight of all of his friends dying around him. Combeferre hadn't been so lucky. Setting the bottle down on a table (Grantaire's table in the corner) Jehan moved to his brother. He gently set a hand on Combeferre's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Words weren't necessary now.

…..

Combeferre sat on the floor shaking. He could see clearly in his mind so many memories, memories of all his friends. So vibrant and full of life, they had filled that room with so much energy. And over each of those memories he could see them all dying, one by one, falling around him. He felt Jehan's hand on his shoulder and leaned into the touch, needing something solid as his mind whirled.

"They died right here," he whispered, "right around me. One second they were there, and the next I was waking up between their bodies. I- I had to climb over J-Joly to reach the stairs."

He looked over to the window, that Jehan said Enjolras had fallen out of after being shot.

"Grantaire died over by the window. He must've woken up after we were shot, and gone to join Enjolras. We always knew how devoted he was. If any would have been willing to lay down their lives for Enjolras, it would've been him."

Combeferre took a shaky breath, choking back sobs as the tears rolled down his cheeks. He stood up, walking towards the table in the corner where Grantaire had passed countless nights drinking, and where he had slept until his final moments. Combeferre reached into his pocket and pulled out the red chrysanthemum that he had found on the ground, that Jehan had planted so long ago. He had saved it before it could get lost after Jehan had rescued him, and pressed it in a book to preserve it. He laid it on the table, in memory of his friends, who had believed in a brighter world and had sacrificed everything for it. But what was their sacrifice for, when all it left behind was a damaged building and broken souls.

…

Jehan quietly listened to his friend as he described what had happened. He found himself smiling crookedly when Combeferre described how Grantaire had died. It didn't surprise the poet that Grantaire had joined Enjolras in the end. Some of them knew how much the drunkard truly loved their chief. Jehan sighed softly and sadly as the tears came. They had all died here, and for what? For a dream? Where was that dream now? What could their deaths accomplish for that dream now? That was the most painful thing for Prouvaire, knowing that the revolution had died with his friends.

Jehan quietly wondered what the others would be doing now if they were in his place. Would they have come here as well to pay their respects? Would they be just as grieved as he was? Yes, they would be but… Jehan wondered if they would be doing more. Enjolras would…

Combeferre walked passed him to Grantaire's table, and Jehan quietly watched him place the flower there. It was one thing to make a shrine to honor their friends, but Jehan knew they could do so much more. A fire blazed in the poet's eyes; a fire that hadn't kindled in a long time. He put a hand on Combeferre's shoulder, turning him around so that they were face to face. "We can't give up," Jehan said firmly, "We can't let them die in vain. We have to keep fighting. We can find more people to join us. We can get Marius in on it as well. They're deaths need to mean something. We must do something for them. We must keep fighting!" He felt hot tears streaming down his face, but he didn't care. Jehan had never felt surer of anything. The Revolution had to continue.

…

Combeferre was pulled from his thoughts by Jehan spinning him around. He stared wide-eyed as the poet shared his thoughts, a fire in his eyes. Combeferre thought about that. He knew that Enjolras would never have given up on the Revolution, not until France was free. Combeferre wanted that horribly, but at the same time the memories of the Musain pulled him back. Look at where their beliefs landed them last time. It led to their friends being killed and nothing else. But still, Jehan's words tugged at Combeferre, trying to override his logic.

"Jehan think about what you are saying," Combeferre said, trying to make sure Jehan understood everything, "I believe in freedom just as much as you, but look at where the Revolution got us. It led to nothing but pain and the death of all our friends."

Combeferre looked around the Musain, at the remnants of their last Revolution. "I don't think I could go through all that again Jehan."

….

Jehan's face softened. He knew he was asking a lot of Combeferre –he was asking a lot of himself as well. "I know but… Things could be different. We know what we can do to make this better. We'll have a better chance of succeeding," Jehan tried to persuade his brother. He needed Combeferre's guidance and wisdom to make this happen.

But could he really force his brother to go through this pain again? Could he really make Combeferre get close to another group of people, only to watch them all die? Yet, hadn't they gone into this Revolution, knowing that could happen? Jehan sighed softly. As scared as he was to continue, Jehan felt that he owed it to his brothers to continue the fight. Now he just had to make Combeferre see that as well.

….

Combeferre listened to Jehan as he explained his thoughts, shaking his head slowly. They thought they had known everything last time as well. Everything had been planned perfectly, years in the making. Yet all it took was one night to destroy it all.

"We thought we had planned for everything Jehan," Combeferre said, "I just, I don't what know what we could do differently. We were fighting for the people, yet they refused to rise and help. The same people we were fighting for were the ones who abandoned us to die. Who abandoned our friends. Who let the National Guard walk right over us."

When Combeferre thought about what Jehan was suggesting, that was all he could think of. How the same people they were fighting for had not stirred when they were needed.

"I think that the people of Paris have made it very clear that they don't truly want change," Combeferre said, feeling bad for doing that to Jehan but knowing it needed to be said.

….

Jehan struggled to find an argument against what Combeferre said. He was right in a way, the people hadn't risen up to help. They left them to die. Combeferre's last words made Jehan visibly flinch. However, as he thought over it, he knew his friend was wrong, and Jehan was surprised to hear him say that. He stared hard at his friend, wondering how all of this could make him change so much.

"They don't want change?" Jehan echoed, growing a little angrier with each word, "The beggars on the street want to stay beggars; is that what you're saying? The orphans don't want families? The cripples don't want support? The poor don't want better lives for themselves? The dying people don't want to live? Of course not! The people do want change, they're just too scared to know how. We're supposed to help them become strong enough to fight and to change. We're supposed to give them support! We're not supposed to give up on them like this! Enjolras taught us that much. Are you really just going to throw it away because he's dead?" Inwardly he flinched, knowing he was treading a thin line here. However, Jehan knew Combeferre had to hear this.

….

Combeferre listened to Jehan's rant, feeling his anger grow with the poet's. Did Jehan think he was stupid? He knew all that, but if they weren't willing to fight for it why risk his own life and lead others to their deaths as well? Jehan's last words were like a smack in the face and Combeferre paled.

"Don't go there Jehan. Just don't. You don't understand," Combeferre said, his voice shaking as he tried to stay calm, "I know that you hurt too, that you lost them all just as much as I did. But you don't get it. You didn't hold Courfeyrac after Gavroche died. You didn't watch Bahorel die as he tried to save Feuilly. You didn't have to pull Joly away from Bossuet. You didn't have to look them in the eyes during their final moments, knowing it was the end."

Combeferre could feel himself losing his control but couldn't stop, "But I did! I did it all Jehan! I tried so hard, trying to make it all worth it! To get something out of this nightmare! But all I got was my friends killed and bullets in the chest for my beliefs! How can I do that to someone else? I was reconciled with dying for our cause, but I didn't sign up for this! How can I help lead another group of people to their deaths if it all just plays out the same way? How can I doom someone else to this life? To being forced to live after going through something like that?"

Combeferre leaned against the wall, his anger fizzling out as quickly as it had come, leaving him feeling dizzy and exhausted. Because that was the root of his problems, the reason he was holding back from what Jehan was suggesting. Could he convince others to join in the Revolution, to keep their dream alive, only to doom them to an early grave or a miserable existence?

….

Jehan took a step back from his friend, shocked –but not surprised- but the anger he was seeing in that face. But it wasn't just anger. Jehan could see the pain in Combeferre's face, hear it in his words. It was a pain the poet could only somewhat understand. Yes, they both lost their friends, but Combeferre had been with them to the end.

For a moment, Jehan just stood quietly, trying to gain control of his own emotions before he tried to speak. Finally, he sighed deeply –a profound sound from the depths of his heart. "You're right," he began quietly, "I don't understand. I wasn't there to see any of this happen. I don't know what it was like. But now, I have to live with that. I have to live with knowing that my friends died without me; that they fought on when I wasn't there. I could have been there; I could have died with them. Maybe that would have been better in the end?" Jehan let out a dry laugh, moving to lean against the window. He stared out at the street, and even it appeared different.

"But I am alive," he continued after a moment, "And now the question is, what do I do with my life? Do I just go on like nothing happened? Do I pretend that I was never a part of something bigger than myself? Is it really that simple? I've been asking myself that a lot. When I think about what happened, I tell myself that I can't possibly do that, or put someone else through it again. But then… When I look at the beggars in the street, the children running around, or the dying men and women in the gutters, I just feel like I still need to help them. If people want to follow me, that is their decision. I wouldn't be the one forcing them to do this. They'd be free to make that choice, as they should be free to make every decision in their lives.

"I think that's what Enjolras might have felt. I think he might have been afraid that he was leading us to our doom. He was honest with us about it too. But he never gave up because he was afraid for us. He knew we were committed to this; that we wouldn't hold it against him if we failed. Combeferre," Jehan slowly looked back to his brother, "If no one gives these people a chance to fight for themselves… or to die for themselves, then they never will."

….

Combeferre slid to the ground, too tired of holding himself up. He listened quietly to Jehan, waiting through the pauses. He knew Jehan was right. He was right about all of it. Combeferre knew that if they did what Jehan wanted that they wouldn't force anyone to fight. But did he even want to give them the option? Because Combeferre wanted nothing more than to change France. The people needed change. But could he help bring that about? Could he manage to look past his guilt and reclaim the fire he once felt for his beliefs and lead those people?

Combeferre closed his eyes when Jehan started talking about Enjolras. Combeferre had had many talks with their leader about that. Combeferre had made sure that Enjolras knew that every decision they made was their own. Enjolras had given them all a chance to leave and every single one of them had chosen to stay and fight. Committed to the very end. Combeferre opened his eyes and looked at Jehan when he heard his name, listening to Jehan's last statement.

"You're right Jehan. About all of it. But I'm not Enjolras. I've never been Enjolras. He was always so sure, even through his fear he never wavered in his confidence. But right now, my confidence is shattered. I want to do this. I want to so badly. But I don't know if I can."

Combeferre leaned his head back against the wall, puffing out a breath.

"I want to change France. Nothing would be greater than to be free. I just need time, to find my fire again. Because I believe you Jehan, you know I do."

Combeferre stood up, looking Jehan straight in the eye.

"If this is what you want to do, I will be with you every step of the way. Just like I always am mon frère."

…

Jehan let the silence pass between them. He knew Combeferre was wrestling with his own emotions, just as he was. Was it right for him to push Combeferre this way? His brother been had been through a hell of a time, so was it right to make him go through it again? Ultimately, it was Combeferre's choice. Jehan just hoped he made the right one for himself. He held his brother's gaze as he spoke, taking in his words carefully. Jehan could see the fear, but determination in those eyes. He was used to seeing more resolve in them, but Jehan knew that would return with time. Combeferre was right, he just needed time to find his fire once more.

The poet straightened up and moved to his brother's side. He put a firm hand on his shoulder. "I'm not asking you to be Enjolras," Jehan reiterated, "I'm asking you to be Combeferre again. I'll do what I can to help you. I appreciate your offer, mon frère, but don't do this just because of me." He didn't want Combeferre getting into this again because of him. He needed to find his own reasons for doing this. If his brother got involved in this and they lost again, Jehan didn't know if he could handle that guilt.

But he also wanted his brother back. It was one thing for Combeferre to be alive, but the man had changed. His pain and guilt had warped him into something different. Jehan had seen the gradual change, but never mentioned it until now. He had hoped Combeferre would come out of it, but it seemed his friend needed a push.

…..

Combeferre sighed, knowing that their conversation wouldn't be going anywhere for that day. He wouldn't just change his mind right then. He knew that the passion was still inside him somewhere, he just couldn't find it, not as easily as Jehan had at least. He knew that the barricade had changed him, and that it wasn't for the better. Combeferre could feel that he wasn't the same. He was less sure of himself, and he couldn't help but feel that he had let Jehan down because of it. He hated making his friend unhappy, but he didn't know what he could about it.

"Let's just go Jehan. I've seen enough here and we aren't going to do anything standing here fighting."

Combeferre walked down the stairs and out the door of the Musain, pausing in the street. His apartment wasn't far and there were a few things Combeferre wanted. He turned as Jehan came out of the Café.

"I'm going to run to my apartment for a few things," Combeferre said, "I'll meet you back at your apartment later?"

He gave small, rather sad, smile before turning in the direction of his apartment. He went up the stairs and opened his door, shutting it behind him. He hadn't been back, though Jehan had stopped by while he was healing and grabbed some of his clothes. Combeferre had replaced his glasses since the barricade and wanted some of his old books to read. He grabbed a few of his books, smiling when he found one that had belonged to Joly that he had never returned. He went and found a bag, putting them inside it. He grabbed a few of his old medical textbooks as well, knowing he would need to start school again eventually. Combeferre thought about grabbing a mattress but decided it was too heavy to carry on his own.

He snagged a few candles on his way out and shut the door behind him. He stopped next to a small garden and decided to sit. He thought about some of the things Jehan had said in the Café. Jehan had said that he just wanted him to be Combeferre again. Had he really changed that much? It was true that he was different but that couldn't be helped. He couldn't have just gone through the barricade and remain unchanged. But had he changed so much that Jehan thought he was someone different? Because that was what bothered Combeferre the most from their conversation. That he had lost so much of who he was out of sadness and guilt that he had disappointed his closest friend, his brother.

Combeferre sat lost in thought for a while before deciding to head back. He would do his best to find who he once was, but it wouldn't come easy. Combeferre knew he would need something to convince him once more that it was the right thing to do, that a Revolution would be worth it in the end. Combeferre walked up the stairs to Jehan's flat and opened the door.

"Jehan I'm back," he called, wondering if Jehan would even be there.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Co-written with the-intrepid-poet on tumblr!  
> A slight twist on the classic tale, told from the perspectives of Jean Prouvaire and Combeferre as they struggle through the Revolution and it's aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ellipses indicate which section was written by whom. Jehan's perspective was written by the-intrepid-poet and I wrote the Combeferre sections

Jehan sadly nodded in agreement. He hated arguing with anyone, especially his friends. Combeferre would find himself, but it would take time, and it was something he had to sort out himself. Jehan would be there if he needed him, but for the most part, the poet would stay out of the way. He followed Combeferre down the stairs and to the exit of the Musain. "Take care, mon ami," Jehan absently replied. He wanted to stay around the Musain for a little bit longer. As Combeferre left, Prouvaire slowly walked around the building, looking up and down at it. Wherever he looked, he saw the smiling faces of his friends. He made a promise to each one of them to keep carrying this revolution.

When he felt he had stayed long enough, Jehan left the Musain. His steps were a little lighter, as a heavy weight had been lifted off his shoulders. However, as he continued walking, they grew heavy once more. He was worried about Combeferre. Would his brother ever return to him again? If he didn't, could Jehan accept the new Combeferre for who he was? As much as Jehan hoped he wouldn't have to, he knew he would eventually learn to live with Combeferre's new personality. After all, they were brothers, and would always love each other no matter what. Jehan kept walking, head down and eyes on the pavement. He absently kicked at lose stones, missing them more often than not but too lost in thought to care. He tried to figure out what to do differently with this revolution, but so far hadn't come up with much. Once Combeferre was back to normal, he'd ask him.

He was about to pick up his pace when the poet bumped right into someone. Jehan backed up, shaking himself. "Ah. Pardon I didn't see-" He stopped short, looking up at the group of menacing soldiers. His eyes widened as he saw recognition flash in their eyes. Before he could run, two of them grabbed him and held him tightly.

"I know you. You're one of those schoolboys who thought he could overthrow the state," the leader laughed, "So much for your 'Revolution' eh boy?" The three men laughed derisively.

Jehan struggled in their tight grip, glaring up at the tall officer. "Yes, go ahead and laugh. Laugh at how you took the lives of young men who only had a different opinion than yours! Laugh at how you slaughtered an eleven-year-old boy all because your corrupt leaders told you to! Yet you wonder why we rebelled?" he growled. He knew it wasn't the smartest thing to be doing, but it had to be said. He wouldn't cower away from these murderers anymore.

Even though he expected the blow, the punch to the face hurt like hell. Jehan felt blood spurt from his now-broken nose. Then came a hard hit to the stomach. Before Jehan could even try to defend himself, he was on the ground, being beaten by kicks, fists, and clubs. He didn't cry out; he wouldn't give these soldiers that reward. The poet just curled up as much as possible and protected his head and face. Finally, the soldiers seemed to grow bored of their game and left, but not without spitting on him. Jehan lay on the cold ground for a while, recovering from the shock and the beating. Then he stiffly got to his feet. Everything hurt, but it was a pain Jehan could endure. He used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the blood away from his nose. He flinched as the motion sent a shock of pain through his entire face. Using the wall as support, Jehan slowly limped back to his flat.

By the time he got back, Combeferre was already inside. Jehan tried to mask his pain as well as he could and walked into the flat.

…

Jehan hadn't been there when Combeferre returned so he settled down to read. He had been reading for a few minutes when the door opened and he looked up, and gasped at what he saw. Jehan looked terrible, bruised and covered in blood and dirt. Combeferre quickly shut his book and hurried over to his friend, helping him get to a chair.

"What happened Jehan? Are you alright? Where does it hurt? Merde you look terrible," Combeferre spoke quickly, looking his friend over.

He quickly got a bowl of water and a cloth, dabbing at Jehan's face to clean him up a bit and trying to be gentle. He could tell that it still hurt but Combeferre needed to be able to see the injuries. Soon he had Jehan's face relatively clean. He could see that there were various bruises and that his nose was broken.

"I'm going to have to reposition your nose Jehan," Combeferre said, "It's going to hurt."

…..

Jehan didn't want to worry Combeferre, so as usual, the poet made up a story to cover up the truth. "I wasn't paying attention to where I was going and tripped down some stairs," he explained. Still, part of him knew Combeferre would see through the lie. Why did he even bother hiding the truth anyway? He was afraid of how his brother would react to it, probably. Settling down in the chair, he laughed dryly, "The better question is where doesn't ithurt." He flinched a little as Combeferre cleaned his face up. Then he mentioned fixing the nose. Jehan sighed softly, "Just do it, quickly." Better to get it over with quickly.

…..

Combeferre could tell that Jehan was lying about how he had gotten hurt. He had obviously been beaten up but was trying to hide it. Combeferre decided to fix Jehan up before confronting him about that.

"Don't worry I'll be as quick as I can," Combeferre said.

He placed his left hand behind Jehan's head and grabbed his nose with his other hand.

"On 3 then," Combeferre said, "1-" with a quick jerk of his hand he popped Jehan's nose back into place. He grabbed a cool, damp cloth and placed it on his face to help with some of the swelling.

"I need to see where else you hurt," Combeferre said, "They might have cracked a rib while they were beating you."

Combeferre saw no point in beating around the bush and decided to just let Jehan know that he had figured it out.

…

Jehan forced himself to relax when Combeferre got ready to fix his nose. He was fully expecting the pain to come on three so he was completely surprised when Combeferre suddenly jerked his nose at the count of one. The resulting cry was more of shock then pain. Still, when the cold cloth was pressed against his throbbing nose, Jehan sighed a little in relief. He took the cloth so Combeferre could check him over more.

He stiffened a bit, though not surprised that Combeferre had figured it out. Well, mostly figured out. He hadn't said who "they" were yet. Jehan didn't want his brother doing anything drastic if he found out it was a group of soldiers. If he tried to go after them, 'Ferre could get hurt. "My left side hurts," he grumbled, gesturing to the spot on his middle where he had been kicked pretty hard. One of the wooden clubs had hit him in that area as well. The wood was rough and had left a bit of a scratch.

…..

Combeferre nodded as Jehan pointed to his side, not pushing him any further on who hurt him until he was healed. Combeferre helped Jehan out of his ruined shirt and set about wiping down his side. There was a good sized scratch that Combeferre made sure to clean well as well as a fair amount of bruising. He prodded at some of the bruises, trying to be gentle but needing to tell if they were signs of broken ribs.

"I don't think any of them are broken," he said slowly, "but I think a few of them might be at least bruised, possibly cracked. I can wrap them up but they'll just need time to heal."

He went and grabbed a strip of cloth from his supplies to wrap Jehan's ribs with. He made sure it was tight enough to help but that his brother could still breathe and then tied it off. He quickly checked the rest of Jehan's torso, deciding that nothing else was broken, just highly bruised. He sat back on his heels, deciding where to start. The bruises were plenty. If it had been a regular mugging there wouldn't be nearly as many. Whoever had attacked Jehan had wanted to do damage, therefore meaning it was a personal attack.

"Jehan," Combeferre started, "Please be honest with me. You obviously didn't fall down any stairs. This also wasn't just a mugging. They would have just punched you down, taken your money, and ran. This is more than that. Who did this?"

…..

Jehan sat still while Combeferre cleaned and wrapped up his torso. He was glad to hear that nothing else was broken. His side still hurt, but Jehan knew it could be a lot worse. He kept the cold compress on his nose the whole time. When Combeferre really questioned him, the poet slowly lowered the rag from his face, sighing softly as he did so. He thought about lying again, but didn't have the heart for it. Combeferre had a right to know.

Looking down at the rag in his hands, Jehan began, "I wasn't lying about not paying attention to where I was going. But… I ran into some soldiers. They recognized me from the barricade. I erm… Basically told them how corrupt their leaders were. They didn't like that too much…" He trailed off, letting Combeferre piece everything together. He looked up to watch his brother's reaction, hoping he wouldn't do anything drastic.

….

Combeferre listened quietly as Jehan described what had happened. He stood up and ran his fingers through his hair, walking over to look out the window. This had happened because Combeferre was too weak. Jehan had gotten hurt because Combeferre was afraid, afraid to stand up to the government for what he believed. How many others would get hurt as well? How many innocents would die if no one was there to convince them to fight for change? How could Combeferre sit back while that happened, when there was every possibility no one else would stand and fight for it?

Combeferre could see then how wrong he had been. He could see that he should have been willing to rise up right away. Instead he had been weak. But no longer. He turned around and looked back at Jehan, feeling the fire inside him again.

"We've got to do something about this Jehan. The government can't just keep walking over us. You were right. We can't just quit. I'm sorry it took you getting hurt for me to see it. But I'm ready now."

…

Jehan quietly watched Combeferre, knowing his friend would sort everything out on his own. Still, he hoped and prayed that his brother would come to his senses now. Jehan wasn't disappointed. It was easy to see those fires in Combeferre's eyes; fires that Jehan was afraid he'd never see again. For once, he was grateful to his bad-luck. If he hadn't run into those soldiers, then Combeferre wouldn't be saying this now.

He smiled back at his brother, nodding in approval. "It's alright. I'm just glad that you have seen it," Jehan said, "So what should we do? I think we need to talk to Marius tomorrow and see what he thinks." Marius had good ideas before, and would hopefully have some more now. If he wasn't confident in another revolution, Jehan knew he and Combeferre could make him believe in it. If he didn't want to fight because of Cosette, Jehan wouldn't hold that against him. The least Marius could do was to just help them plan.

…

Combeferre agreed that they needed to talk with Marius about their ideas but knew they needed to be careful there.

"Remember though," he said, "Marius needs his grandfather now that he's married. He has to be able to support Cosette. His grandfather didn't support the Revolution last time why should he this time around? But I do agree that we need to talk with him about it. After that," Combeferre took a moment, chewing his lip as he thought, "After that we need to start spreading the word again. Talk to some students at the University. It will be harder this time around. Everyone will know what happened last time and they'll be wary, especially since it will be the two of us mentioning it."

Combeferre knew it wouldn't be easy, but he believed they could do it. The University was full of students who held the same ideals of freedom. It was where many of the Amis had heard of Enjolras and his plans. It was ultimately where the Revolution had been born and it would start a new one as well.

"Before any of that happens however," Combeferre said, being practical once more, "you need to rest. Take the mattress, try not to bump your nose, and I'll make you some soup."

...

Jehan nodded in agreement. He didn't want Marius' relationship with his grandfather to be torn even more because of them, and he certainly didn't want anything bad to happen to him or Cosette. Talking to the other students seemed like the best idea. It would take a lot of convincing to get them to join up, but Jehan knew he and Combeferre could persuade them somehow. He would get to work on some more pamphlets later. They could start passing them out again once they had everything planned.

It was great to see Combeferre back to his old self again. Jehan could see his mind working and planning as it used to do. They still had a long way to go, and they needed many more people, but they could do this. Once again, Jehan felt his inner fire blazing. He was ready for this. They had to be.

When Combeferre began fussing over him, Jehan couldn't help but laugh, "If there's one thing that doesn't change about you, mon frère, it's that you can be such a mother hen!" Still, he settled down on the mattress, making sure not to hit his nose.

…...

Combeferre made sure that Jehan was settled before he went off to prepare soup. Luckily they had all the necessary ingredients. He quickly threw the soup together and set it to cook. Jehan's statement was true. Combeferre had always kept all the Amis in line, making sure that they stayed in line and got what was needed done. He could clearly remember dragging Joly to class when he was "ill" or making sure that Courfeyrac didn't hurt himself doing whatever it was he did on a regular basis. Whenever any of them needed something Combeferre was who they came to. Combeferre smiled slightly as the soup finished, remembering all those times fondly.

He poured the soup in a bowl and took it over to Jehan.

"It's probably not the best," he said apologetically, "I've never been the best cook. If you don't like it, don't worry about it."

…..

Jehan sat up and took the offered soup. He blew on it a bit to cool it off then took a sip. The minute it touched his tongue, the poet wanted to gag. But his selfless desire to keep Combeferre happy outweighed the complaints of his taste-buds. He managed to keep a straight face as he chewed and swallowed the first mouthful. "It's fine," Jehan assured Combeferre, then slowly ate the rest in small spoonful's.

Needless to say, he was grateful when the bowl was finally empty. Jehan set it aside and sat back on the mattress. "Did you get what you needed from your apartment?" he asked. Most likely, his friend had picked up his school work. He hoped Combeferre hadn't fallen too far behind…

…..

He watched as Jehan blew on the soup and took a sip, hoping it tasted decent. He could tell that Jehan was trying to keep a straight face but he knew the soup tasted horrible. He shook his head and went to clean up while Jehan ate. He came back in as Jehan finished up, lighting some of the candles he had brought back from his apartment. He looked over at Jehan's question.

"I just got some books," Combeferre said, "Some of my favorites to read as well as some of my medical books. The school year ended right after the barricade so I'll have to do those classes again," he added with a sigh. All that money gone to waste.

…

Jehan frowned a little at that. He knew how much Combeferre liked his studies. It was a shame that he had missed out on so much, but it had been for a good cause. Knowing how studious Combeferre was, Jehan knew his brother could catch up. He didn't doubt that 'Ferre would make a great doctor someday. "Well, at least you know most of the material already," Jehan spoke up, "And you could probably reuse some of your work." Hopefully getting back into the University wouldn't be too hard for his friend.

The two spent the rest of the day talking or reading. Jehan even shared a poem or two with Combeferre, and he in turn read a few chapters from his philosophy books. While Jehan could appreciate the writing, he didn't necessarily agree with everything in the book. However, he didn't mind Combeferre sharing his view-points. Before long, night had fallen. Jehan settled down on the mattress for a good night's rest. He dreamt of a barricade that covered the whole of Paris. Everyone was there, waving flags and calling out for freedom. It was good to see all of his friends again.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Co-written with the-intrepid-poet on tumblr!  
> A slight twist on the classic tale, told from the perspectives of Jean Prouvaire and Combeferre as they struggle through the Revolution and it's aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ellipses indicate which section was written by whom. Jehan's perspective was written by the-intrepid-poet and I wrote the Combeferre sections

When Jehan woke that morning, he felt refreshed and ready to begin the revolution once more. He quietly got dressed then crouched down to wake Combeferre up. "Wake up, mon frère, it's time to plan again," he said with a smile. After a few minutes, the two were walking down to Marius' estate. Jehan was still a little sore from his beating, but could walk just fine. A few people stared at his bruised face, but he didn't pay them any mind. The estate came into view and the two students walked up to the front door and knocked.

…..

"That will certainly make things easier," Combeferre said to Jehan with a smile as he grabbed a few of his books and settled on one end of the mattress. The two of them spent the rest of the day just relaxing, with Combeferre feeling more at peace than he had in a long time. He enjoyed hearing Jehan's new poems and smiled in amusement as Jehan humored his philosophy books. He moved down to the bed roll when they got tired, leaving Jehan the mattress for his ribs. Combeferre slept better that night than months. All their talk of revolution put his dream on a barricade with all his friends, only this time the people of Paris had risen up and joined them.

Combeferre was pulled from his dream by Jehan the next morning. He groaned, wishing it could have lasted longer, and sat up with a stretch. The two of them soon had left for Marius', Jehan's bruised face earning some stares as they went. The doorman opened the door at Jehan's knock. He looked shocked at Jehan's face but quickly covered it, guiding them to a sitting room.

"Monsieur Pontmercy will be with you in a moment, monsieur's," he said before leaving the room.

Combeferre sat down, looking around the room. It was certainly nice, though highly lavish. Combeferre felt it didn't suit Marius' more simple style at all. He stood as Marius entered. He looked worn and a little tired but smiled broadly at the two of them. Combeferre gave Marius a hug, grinning widely. Marius turned to Jehan.

"What happened to you, Jehan?"

…

When Jehan saw how worn-out Marius looked, he was a little worried. What had happened in the past two days to make their friend seem so tired? But, of course, Marius was more concerned with them than himself. Jehan sighed softly when Marius noticed his bruises. Were they really that bad? He looked down at the floor and muttered, "I ran into some soldiers last night."

"And they beat you?" Marius asked, "Why?"

Jehan looked up at his friend. "They recognized me from the barricade. So, if you go outside, be careful," he warned. He didn't want the soldiers going after Marius or Cosette. He doubted they would touch someone whose grandfather was in high standing, but one could never be too careful. Marius shook his head in disgust. Once again, Jehan couldn't help but notice how tired the man was. "Are you alright, Marius? You look exhausted, mon ami."

Marius smiled half-heartedly at Jehan's concern. He sat down in one of the chairs, bidding the others do the same. After a moment, he sighed and answered, "Cosette's father passed away the night of the wedding… We were able to find him and say goodbye in time." He sighed deeply, still grieving for Jean Valjean's loss.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Jehan breathed. Losing anyone was hard, but losing them on a wedding night… Jehan couldn't imagine how Marius and Cosette were feeling.

Marius nodded his thanks, appreciating Jehan's unwavering concern. He brightened a bit, then continued, "But I did learn that he was the one who carried me from the barricade. You remember that man who came as a volunteer, Combeferre? That was him."

…

Combeferre could see Jehan's embarrassment at Marius' question about the bruises and put his hand on Jehan's shoulder. He knew there was nothing he could do about those they just needed time to heal. Combeferre sat when Marius motioned them to, listening as Marius explained about Cosette's father and murmured his condolences. He was shocked when Marius mentioned that he had been at the barricade, having completely forgotten about him.

"Oh the man who took the inspector?" Combeferre said in his surprise, "I never even thought about what happened to him. He disappeared during the last attack sometime before we-"

He stopped, not completing the thought, not saying that he disappeared as the remaining Amis were running into the Café to escape the soldiers. Combeferre shook off the thoughts.

"Well I'm glad he was there to save you Marius," Combeferre continued, "You and Cosette were lucky to have him in your life. Even if your time with him was brief."

Combeferre shook his head in disbelief. Sometimes fate had a strange way of working. Combeferre felt very thankful to Cosette's father, thankful that he had been there to save Marius, giving him and Jehan another friend.

"Well you told us how you survived so," Combeferre looked over at Jehan in question, "so I suppose you want to hear our story now."

….

When Combeferre paused, Jehan put a comforting hand on his leg. This was still a tough subject for both of them, but someday soon they would have new friends to plan with. He was quiet for a moment when Combeferre asked to explain their story. This would be the first time Jehan explained it to anyone else. The poet took a deep breath and began, "Well, you know how I was shot in front of the barricade. But the bullet hit my shoulder. The pain was enough to knock me out for the night. When I woke up the barricade… Was already taken. I climbed it and saw what happened to everyone. I really didn't know what to do at that point. I just walked into the Musain. Then I saw Combeferre on the stairs. He was still alive, but barely. I helped him to his feet and carried him back to my flat.

"I managed to bandage him up with whatever I could find. He finally woke up after a while. Then Musichetta came to check on us. She took care of us until we could care for ourselves," Jehan finished, glad that he had been able to get through the story without any difficulty.

…..

Combeferre listened to Jehan explain his story, glad to see his friend have no trouble with it. Combeferre knew it would still be difficult for when he explained, but knew that more he talked about it the easier it would get. Then Jehan was done and Marius turned to him. He took a breath and then began.

"Well you were there for most of it, Marius, but after you were shot we tried to barricade the door of the Café, though there wasn't much to use. When we got upstairs it was only Enjolras, Joly, Courfeyrac and I. The soldiers entered the Café and shot through the floor, which is when I was hit, several times in my torso."

He clasped his hands together in his lap, looking down at them and steeling himself for the next part.

"I woke up in between Joly and Courfeyrac, they were both dead. Grantaire was over by the window, he had showed up and stood with Enjolras at the end," he smiled, remembering all the times Enjolras had been oblivious to Grantaire's adoration, "I crawled away to the stairs but I couldn't manage to get down them. I was too weak from my wounds. That's when Jehan found me and got me away from there. And well, you know the rest."

Combeferre ran his fingers through his hair, thinking he had gotten through that better than he thought he would. A thought struck him.

"Have you been back to the Musain?" he asked Marius.

…...

Jehan was proud that Combeferre told his story, and that he had gotten through it so well. It was just one step to healing the pain and emptiness. He knew it was probably good for Marius to hear as well. This way, he knew exactly how his friends had died instead of speculating and guessing. No doubt Marius felt guilty for being one of the only survivors. But that pain must've been worse when he thought he was all alone. At least he had Cosette to lean on, though, and she seemed so patient and kind.

Marius looked down at his own hands at Combeferre's question. After a moment, he quietly replied, "Yes… I went back a few days before the wedding. Have you?"

Jehan nodded, "We were there yesterday." He looked to Combeferre then, wondering how to approach Marius about their plan. He wasn't sure how Marius would take it. Deciding it wouldn't work to beat around the bush, Jehan cleared his throat. "Marius… Combeferre and I have been thinking about everything and… Well, we wanted to continue where the others left off. We want to keep the revolution going; for them and for the people," he slowly explained, watching Marius' reaction closely.

Marius was quiet for a long time, staring between Combeferre and Jehan. It was hard to tell what exactly he was thinking. Jehan could see fear and uncertainty in his face, but also a bit of hope. "How do you plan to do this?" Marius asked.

…

Combeferre waited as Marius absorbed what Jehan said, trying to read his expression. He could see the hope trying to break through but could see the struggle taking place. Combeferre took a second, thinking about Marius' question.

"Well I was thinking we could start at the University," he started, "That's where many of us first heard of Enjolras and his plans and it would be the best place to start again. It won't be easy but," he glanced at Jehan, "we know it needs to happen."

Marius thought for a minute. "I just don't know if this is the best thing to do."

Combeferre smiled slightly at Marius. "I was right there with you, Marius. Jehan and I only talked about this yesterday and we actually argued because I didn't see the point. I didn't see why we should lead anyone else to their deaths. It actually took Jehan getting beat by those soldiers for me to see it," Combeferre leaned forward, trying to impress Marius to see it, "but we can't just sit back while the government walks over us. It's corrupt, Marius, and someone has to do something about it."

Combeferre stopped, trying to read what Marius was thinking.

"I understand if you don't want to be a part of this, Marius. You have Cosette now, and you need your grandfather's support to care for her. I also understand if you just can't see it right now. We just needed to tell you what we're planning. The rest is up to you."

…..

Jehan listened quietly while Combeferre tried to convince Marius to join with them. His friend made good points, but Jehan also knew Marius had a bigger decision to make than the two of them. He wasn't living for himself anymore; he had Cosette to take care of. She needed him as much as France needed them. It was up to Marius how he prioritized his decision, and Jehan didn't want to push him one way or the other. "We aren't asking you to decide today," Jehan added, "It took us a while to figure this out. We'll understand and accept whatever you decide, mon ami. It's your choice."

Marius nodded and thought it over carefully. Jehan could see him struggling to come up with the right decision, and felt sorry for putting all this pressure on him. But Marius needed to make up his own mind. Finally, Marius sighed softly and straightened up. He looked between the two of them and Jehan saw a spark of determination in his eyes. "I will do what I can to help you, but I cannot leave Cosette. If you need anything from me, ask, and I will do what I can. I don't want our friends' sacrifices to count for nothing," he said.

Jehan grinned brightly at Marius, glad to hear that they had another person on their side. He jumped up and hugged Marius, pushing the pain in his side away for the moment. He stepped back with a sheepish grin. "Thank you, Marius. We'll keep you informed of what happens as we go."

….

Combeferre watched as Marius thought everything he said over. He said what he could and the rest was up to Marius, Combeferre couldn't make that decision for him. Combeferre smiled when he saw the determination in his friends' eyes.

"We're not asking you to leave Cosette, we would never do that," Combeferre said, standing up when Jehan moved quickly, worried that his friend would hurt his ribs.

"Anyways we've taken up enough of your time I'm sure you're busy," Combeferre said, "But like Jehan said we'll keep you informed. Say hello to Cosette for us and our condolences for her father."

They said their goodbyes and left, agreeing to get together often. Combeferre turned to Jehan with a grin.

"This is the beginning, Jehan. We can do this."

….

Jehan's excitement only grew when they said their goodbyes to Marius. They would meet together often –at least once a week- to decide what to do. Most likely, Jehan and Combeferre would start recruiting when the school-year started up again. They would have to find a place to meet, and Jehan figured the Musain would work just as well a second time with a few renovations. Marius could probably help fund that project.

The poet beamed at his friend, putting an arm around his shoulders as they walked along. "We can, and we will, mon frère," Jehan said confidently, "I'm sure of it. We'll see a new France rise up with the people." They walked arm and arm to the flat already thinking of new ideas for rallies, recruitment, and pamphlets. Dawn would rise this time, ushering in a new life for all of the citizens of France. Jehan was glad to be a part of it and would give whatever he could to see this cause through.

As he sat at his desk, penning some ideas and phrases down for pamphlets, Jehan suddenly looked up at Combeferre. "'Ferre… I know I don't say this as often as I should, but I'm glad you're here with me," he said with a smile. He didn't know where it came from, but he just felt the need to say it. Jehan didn't know what he'd be doing now if Combeferre had perished with the others.

….

The two of them walked back to the apartment, Combeferre grinning the whole way as they discussed their plans. Combeferre could see his dream coming alive, the people of Paris joining them as they changed the world. Jehan sat down at the desk when they entered and Combeferre spread out across the floor with his books, switching between looking at textbooks and writing down ideas for Revolution as they came to him. He looked up when Jehan said his name, smiling at what he said.

"I'm just happy I could be here for you. Without you I wouldn't be, and I couldn't have asked for a better brother than you, Jehan."


End file.
